From Another Point of View
by Mirae-no-sekai
Summary: 100 moments for mismatched couples and mayhem. What lies in store? For xDarknessAngelx's 100 Couple Challenge.
1. Silence

They needed a new Struggle strategy. As it was, Hayner's team would beat them the next time around, and Fuu was not about to tolerate another bout of Seifer's temper.

It led to scouting the peaceful streets of Twilight Town… and finding a mountain of a man in the plaza. With a weapon. But, in her mind's eye, she could probably liken it to the Struggle bat – if somewhat adapted to fit the man's frame.

Lexaeus sees the pale-haired girl approach him. Fairly fearless, to walk over to him. It would probably mean Vexen berating him for his lack of stealth. But that was a concern for another time – she might have information on the Heartless to take out. And at the very least, silence will drive away most people.

"Hello." She is in front of him now, a bat in her hands. He has heard of a combat-like sport in this world – maybe she practices it. Unfazed by his lack of an answer, she lifts it in question.

"Good?"

Clueless. So, she'd probably not tell about an odd man in her town. To her, he posed competition. So he shows a couple of swings, an attack or two. She watches attentively… possibly trying to figure out an opponent countering the same movements.

"Teach."

So, she met her new Struggle 'coach'. Her gang would wonder at times who was the newcomer – it ended with a silence and barely a word or two. A communication-impaired person, or succinct with words. Like Fuu herself – but he was a good coach, and 'earned' his stay with them.

Although, they all felt like most of the conversation was via ellipses and telepathy. So in the end, the one who got the most of their training was their silent teammate.

It ended with a Struggle match, a couple scrawls of paper and his continued absence. Belatedly, Fuu realized she didn't know his name. And he didn't know hers either…

Wait. The paper had, among other tactics, a name. Lexaeus… odd, but if the others had a 'Roxas'…

"Words needed." She forgot most of this anyways.

* * *

><p><em>A.N. – I lied… the challenge sounded quite awesome to let it simmer for a while…<em>

_Two things: I'm taking 'couples' as 'the guys I'm centering it around'… don't have that amount of creativity for romance… and doing it in disorder as well (meep... apologies on that!)_

_And, as for all fanfiction: nothing belongs to me! Challenge by xDarknessAngelx, characters by Square-Enix and Disney where appropriate, now please enjoy!_


	2. Fly

Since… well, let's just leave it as a very long time… since then Ventus loved the air. It probably had something to do with his namesake, or having to constantly look up to meet the eyes of his friends. Maybe it was due to the beautiful skylines that graced the Land of Departure. In any case, flying was always one of his biggest dreams.

At first, it had been the Keyblade Glider. Races with Terra across and above the chains and masonry of their home, all at breakneck speed. Back then, going anyplace else had been secondary and merely for jokes and future plans…

But then, it all went wrong. Speedy departures and words left unsaid. So, Ventus did the obvious: to chase after his friend, wind as his guide.

And he arrived to the Neverland. Or, as he'd keep referring to it: the Land of Flight. As to the 'why's of flight… it came with a girl the size of his palm. A girl who'd keep staring at herself in the green surface of the Wayfinder. More to the point, a winged girl who chimed and glittered – so, to Ventus she was Tinkerbell.

Needless to say, he became attached to the flying chime. At first, it had meant bailing her out of glass prisons and chasing a trail of stardust in the night sky behind her. It had meant whispered secrets and pranks to an elder girl with both feet on the ground.

And, even if it was for a short breath of time… he became enamored with her. Maybe not with vain Tinkerbell herself, but with her grace and skill and speed. Or with the devotion towards her Peter Pan.

In the end, he had to leave. The Neverland was always his to revisit, his days to give to the small fairy…

But, along with the Wayfinder, he kept a couple old potion vials glimmering with fairy dust and a minuscule thimble of bronze. A gift to a friend…

But, for some reason, she had called it a kiss. He'd have to shrink himself to size to show her what a kiss was sometime.

* * *

><p>A.N. – referencing way old books for kicks… and crack pairings as always. Romance: harder to write than it looks like (or at least, making it anything over 'not really there unless you squint way hard and blur your eyes'). I'm more liable to write friendship or something… but take it as you wish! Thanks for the reviews to: <em>Mon Mon Candie<em>, _xDarknessAngelx_ and _Beyond the Clouds_. To all readers: hope you've enjoyed!


	3. Leave

Moogles rarely leaved a place. Customer loyalty and avoiding pom-pom ruffling were magnets to a location. However, Moogle was leaving Never Was.

Moogle had crammed wares into hyperspace, stolen wary looks at the Grey Area where he had set up shop…

"Kupo."

And left.

o-o

"Keep flying, keep flying, _keep_ flying kupo!"

Moogle didn't bank on the _other one_ leaving in such a blaze of blades. But it kept the zealous denizens of the world from noticing he was leaving as well. Then again, it didn't want _him_ to lose. So, he did the only thing he figured could help him.

o-o

Roxas thought that there were too many potions on the nobodies that guarded the castle. _I need them anyways…_

Somewhere behind him, a pair of small wings beat in a frenzy to catch up.

o-o

Well, it was expensive… but _he_ better make it at the end. Moogle checked around the wares: weapon, weapon, spell, crystal… potion! He threw one to the next spindly creature doomed to the raging key.

o-o

He arrived at Twilight Town led by memories and an overwhelming want for sea-salt ice cream. He took a couple of moments to glare at the places that he had spent so much time in…

_Carefully_ avoiding the thoughts of his once-best-friends, Roxas strode over to the clock tower.

o-o

Moogle would probably need something to calm his friend down. Browsing other businesses, he bought a small bar of sky-blue ice cream.

Now, where could he have gone?

o-o

Roxas eyed the sunset, missing company. And lacking a bar of ice cream to 'drown' his sorrows in.

The flap of wings and the jingle of metal beads broke his concentration. Turning around…

"Hello kupo."  
>Best news ever. Moogle extended a hand with a still-wrapped treat, eyes trained on the smile of his favorite customer.<p>

"Hello. What are you doing here?"

"Best customer kupo. Very kind to me… so I left kupo!"

o-o

Moogle begun stocking up on sea-salt bars. Roxas would smile more on seeing them…

And share one at times was nice.


	4. Drug

At first, having to serve as jailor for the white witch had been an ordeal. Hours of threats, taunts and tedious future labors had forced him to acquiesce to the 'small' task.

Apparently, she needed company. Something that was completely beyond his ability to give. Sure, he could just stand there, greet her and sink into the pages of a book or calmly plan out their movements… but that was no different from what the other had done. So, he stood a ways back from the doorway, analyzing the young girl within.

She doesn't notice him for a while, concentrating on the sketches she is making. But when she does, and he refuses to move towards her, Naminé shyly made her way to him.

And, apparently just because she could, wrapped her arms about him. Only a couple lingering thoughts about a scythe aimed at him kept Zexion where he was, staring at the girl.

o-o

Naminé is quite astounded when she realizes that he isn't like her other captors, with an exuberant if aggressive assumed personality. The slate-haired man (boy?) is quiet, choosing to retreat and speak to her rather than taunt or trace metal near her skin.

She doesn't know just what to make of him… so she goes off on what she wishes someone would make of her.

o-o

He doesn't know what drags him up to her gilded prison anymore. There are no looming threats about him…

But she was abnormally kind to him. And that, the kindness… it was addictive. Anything that made him feel real was.

o-o

Naminé is slightly amazed at his continued visits. For once, he had leant minimally into her arms, had lingered for a second closer to her. It wasn't the Zexion that had come once, obliged, to guard her.

She very nearly jumps when, spontaneously, it is him drawing her near.

o-o

He has to stay away now. It's counter-productive to cling to her. She was no drug-like being, with the touch of reality at her pale fingertips.

But apparently, his mind has already decided he _can't_ stay away. So he edged back upstairs, half-glaring at the white walls.

"I _couldn't_ stay away…"

When he gets a heart, he'll make sure that this is no illusion. That there is some true attachment…

But for now, he lets Naminé hold him close; the desperate edge of her grip giving him a hint that _yes_, she missed him as well.

* * *

><p>A.N. – gaaah… went over the limit. Sorry! In any case… this being me, the pairing was <em>probably <em>expected.

And:_ many_ thanks for the reviews on the last (crack-filled) chapter kupo!


	5. Phone Call

When her phone beings ringing incessantly, Kairi is mildly surprised. When it turns out that it is Sora's number _yet _again… the surprise heightens before dulling into a slight laughing sigh. It isn't a phone call, _another_ message which consists of a goofy picture of her friend, and…

**Wait**, is there _really_…

She checks back on the small messages, looking over the concealed lettering she had missed earlier. _Only you'd think that up, Sora._ What she reads is… astounding, to say the least.

_The poem._ The one that she had written so long ago and waved off into the world-seeking seas. It was back there, in a collage of mismatched pictures and radiant smiles. Her cell phone's memory is bloated, and she is hurriedly deleting anything outside of the image folders.

At a certain point, many messages later, the poem ends. But the pictures continue. There is Sora holding his hands out in the shape of a heart… more letters, more letters…

A D, a wheel (therefore an O), a Y (which actually _was_ Sora, and no cleverly hidden sign), another O, an upside down U from a street sign…

By the backgrounds, she realizes he is getting closer. But what warns her is not the slowly approaching photographer, but the bated silence of the phone in her hands. So, Kairi most certainly _doesn't_ jump when tan arms surround her and a friendly kiss is feathered on her cheek. But she does playfully shove him slightly, before leaning back into his chest.

"Thanks… but-"

"What the rest says is: do you want to, _um_, go out with me? _Please_?"

There is a small pout on his face, and he is really trying to look cute and appeal to her.

_He is trying way too hard._

"Well…"

A bit of shock – it rises when she spins around to kiss him on the lips, giggling when Sora is still stunned by her reaction.

"Silly you – yes!"

Somewhere further along the beach, far away enough so that the pair of them are just barely visible…

A whoop resounds, bouncing off on the waves.

* * *

><p>A.N. – brief non-crack pairing intermission! I kinda love those two… thanks for the readsreviews, and feel free to leave your comments :)


	6. Royalty

In so far as royalty was concerned, Aqua was at a loss. She vaguely knew about etiquette and codes of conduct, but so much of that had come from stories and legends; without a doubt, the small shreds of information were useless to the spell-weaving Master.

But, as far as anyone knew, it wasn't supposed to be the prince locked to the wall in a moss-choked cage within the dragoness's lair. Yet Phillip was there, stealing glances at the stubborn metal that had refused to yield to the damp air and reeking age. And, most surprisingly, the prince didn't argue when it was a maiden rescuing him – a lady in full armor, but a lady nonetheless.

Aqua does understand his mission though. To rescue his beloved who lies asleep in the vine-castle. And as the prince and her race through the halls, laying waste to what crosses their way by blade or spell…

She is glad for him. Basks in the light from the both of them, chasing the stagnant dark away and scything a path through curling thorns. There is a slight pause for them when they reach the dormant court hall, with the people asleep on their places, cobwebs and dust dulling the silken garments. Yet, after checking a few… they continue.

Phillip knows the spell will shatter with the rising dawn and a true love's kiss. Aqua thinks that there will be a few Unversed in the way, their sleek bodies unusually shining by the lack of a timeless powder. And, despite her devotion to her own wayward friends, and the absolute love he bears for the princess that waits at the top of the tower…

There is a fleeting envy, before it falls off to join the residue on the stone floors. Because the sworn promise to his lady is something that even she can value. An unbreakable connection, that no malicious spell will sever or distance weaken.

The star-shaped charm she carries serves as a reminder to her as well. Maybe, later on, she'll visit over; admire the kingdom that he swears is so wonderful.

And she can't miss the wedding – not after the trouble of rescuing the princess, can she?


	7. Sweet

Ienzo had never been one for little details. The young scientist dealt with facts and figures, mellowed out by a bar of sea-salt ice creams and the company of long texts with minuscule script.

But, there was someone else to even out the extensive studies. A sweetener, if you will. It was a girl his age, with blood-red hair and all smiles and flowers. They weren't alike: his silent detachment to her chatty radiance, the washed out colors of the boy to the rainbow that she was. Yet, despite (or maybe because) of this, they soon became fast friends.

And she – or Kairi, as he liked to repeat over and over, because her name was sweet and soft – was why he'd plunge into his studies with earnest; the break would come quicker that way. Kairi was the reason Ienzo would, at times, sneak away from Even or wheedle candies from his elders.

They didn't mind that he would go out on those escapades. Or at least, not at the beginning, when the world was safe. But still, so long as they remained near the stalls and castle… the pair of them would be okay.

However, later on… Ienzo began to grow a bit nervous. His friend, almost but not quite his Kairi… she could leave him, could she? Because she was all brilliant laughter and sweet treats shared in the gardens and the scent of light in flowers. And Ienzo was barely a shadow of a boy, with silence and science and a tenuous grasp on her light…

They had soon figured out that there was darkness in hearts. But he wouldn't hear it was in everyone's. Kairi's heart would be void of darkness, a shining beacon – he was absolutely sure of such a thing. Maybe, if he managed to take it away from his own, she'd stay by his side. He wouldn't chase her away with the fear of shadows…

In any case, he had little doubt that their experiments would be successful. Even and Braig said that… so, if they said so, Ienzo could find little flaw.

When it was over, he'd get Kairi her favorite sweets; but first, to finish up today's tests.


	8. Alone

_Despite_ reading over and over about Elsewhere's queens, who have held their mighty kingdoms alone for long enough…

_Despite _not _really_ being isolated, courtiers and knights and mages keeping her zealous and light-hearted company (but she sees through most facades really – they miss him as much as she does…)

_Despite _sending off trails of light into the shared sky and letting the sea bear many a bottled missive to where the darkness reigns, a beacon of hope to those (mainly one) who wander there…

You wouldn't know that Minnie misses her mouse so. Trusts him implicitly, knows he'll be back with yet another adventure and a promise that _next time_, she's going as well. Last time, he had looked just _dashing_ returning with that keyblade (like that one of the man in the races). And, Minnie will readily agree that the black hooded cloak could do a number on her – there is still a window with scorch marks on it _somewhere_, and her spells are rarely on cool-down anymore.

But she is, _technically_, alone. The mouse queen has to rule without her jovial support; despite it, the world flourishes and no-one can _really_ see the hidden skittishness.

Save for the 'shooting stars' that will dot the skies at night. Or the messages in bottles that so often wash ashore, with no discernible seal but neat lettering and signed with a heart and their icon.

So _logically,_ when Mickey returns home, sand still between his ears and a star-shaped fruit in his backpack, the first thing to fly at him is not a joyous queen. Or a cloud of confetti, for that matter – the arrival was as much of a private event as it could be.

It was a volley of light missiles. The lady followed soon after, crown toppling off from sheer speed.

The crowd took it from there – as they were supposed to do, with booming cheers and color-shred showers and races around streets with long banners and rolling laughter.

And, for a couple days, no one dares turn off all lights, for fear of bringing back the lonely darkness.

A.N. – had a half-crazy want for fluff and yay-old memories, so… I'm blaming it on late-nighters and school projects with friends.

Thanks for reading, and help author-review relation study by leaving one ;-)


	9. Dance

To be honest, Kairi didn't think that the Nobodies had much of a sense of humor, save for the one guy with the eye patch. Then again, she didn't expect that music would be flooding (sometimes literally) the castle with almost liquid notes and not quite haunting melodies.

So, there is surprise when it's an empty teen slinking into her prison, apparently after hearing her hum some random ditty of the supposedly silent castle. More surprise when he summons a delicate weapon and strums the chords to echo her sounds; although, he is younger, and _maybe_ can remember what feeling felt like.

At first, she merely listens and watches, too high-strung to consider him anything other than a potential threat. _Tries_ to la-la-la with the new song… then wails off-key when there is forced motion to her arms and legs. 'Kairi' stood up, quivering slightly, to meet the face of a translucent boy that was a reflection of the musician further back.

"What are you waiting for? _Dance!_"

Kairi tilts her head, eyeing the real person (funny to think of him as such) with disbelief. There would have been a smile, had it been someone else someplace else. But it is a boy in shadows, pretending to pout while still drawing out a melody from a weapon she has no name for.

"Well… so _this_ didn't work…" A grin, maybe for the clone rather than the girl, as the water-like being swirls around a bit faster and grabs her hands.

"Dance water dance!"

For a couple gut-wrenching minutes, it is the music taking a hold of her and putting her through the motions of rhythm and beat. The hands that lead her around seem to help it, giving her a bit more support and twirling her around in a way that… well, it wasn't usual to dance this way.

But soon enough, the driving music recedes and it is her dancing with the water-boy, while the one in shadow watches her from someplace else, the instrument sounding pleased.

"Name's Demyx. You're _supposed_ to dance to music. But you sing well to it as well."

As far as captors go, Demyx wasn't _that_ bad.


	10. Stand by You

Once, long ago, when the sun still gleamed like a fat bulb over tranquil islands…

Riku had sworn that he'd always, _no matter what_, stand by her side. He had meant it at first like a childhood declaration: puppy love given the shape of an oath and sealed with crossed pinkies and a light kiss on the cheek.

And _damned_ be him if he didn't fulfill his promise to the word. There was no day when he wouldn't hang on to her words, seek her company…

Well, he was damned right now anyways. So, _somewhere _along the line, he had broken it. _Maybe_ it was when the darkness blotted out the sun with cackling ink and devouring tendrils. Maybe it was when he realized that, _of all things_, he had _forgotten_ to pick both of them up.

He found her later, in a small nook that had slipped from his mind. Her hand fell from his, red hair hanging limp over half-open eyes like gems: shining with empty light and not seeing anything at all.

Kairi hadn't truly woken up in days, weeks if Riku's count was accurate. She'd barely move, barely react… and he missed her lilting tones and the trilling laughter and seeing her dance when just stepping over to say hello.

But only true love would wake the little princess up, and he knew he wasn't; the prince never left the lady like this, much less dwell willingly in darkness. It hurt, thinking that only Sora would be able to aid her (not that he didn't deserve it, _but_…)

Riku would continue to do what he swore to the once-radiant Kairi on the lazy shores of 'their' beach, with the sky painted in fading watercolors and the soft rush of the tide. It was the only thing he could do, beyond chasing the colors away to buy more power to him in the hopes that she'd be back sooner.

He'd stand by her. The ever so loyal knight – maybe not in shining armor, but…

Darkness did _gleam_ at times. Maybe enough to get them the fairytale ending.


	11. Blank

Seeing a young blank being in Castle Oblivion was, quite literally, a breath of fresh air. Someone who'd not raise a weapon against him was enough to almost send him into a cheer and light up blue eyes.

When the small girl presented herself as Naminé… it couldn't possibly be going better for Sora, right?

She was here! His best friend, and… _umm_…

There was a bit of a blank in his head now, the glimmer of a yellow star and the scribbles of a pencil on white paper. Blue eyes fading to slight twilight purple then back to the blue in the blonde girl's face.

But well, she was here now, right where Sora could keep her safe, and she'd get along just right with Riku and Donald and Goofy. They'd be back home, and he'd tell her that-

Blank again. A hint of red creeping behind the halo of blonde behind her head. A small smile and a coy wave-

She is gone again, back to a corner of his memories and he had forgotten that he was just sneaking around yet more empty white corridors. Frankly, he would swear that the walls were blinking back at him, and his shadow seemed eager to jump out and do battle with the still air, or run off to _truly_ find a white-clad girl…

But not now. He'll find Naminé first, then he'd see about coloring the skies over. And filling in the blanks in his head.

o-o

Meanwhile, Naminé was somewhere there, drawing the perpetually smiling boy into more landscapes and castle walls. For a moment, she sees behind her eyes a memory; Sora and the _other girl_, draped over a paopu tree watching the sunset fade off into tranquil night.

She traces a pencil over them. The color from her hair is leeched into the disappearing sun, the indigo in her eyes spread out to the heavens. The star-shaped charm she was making glimmers into a new form, the dress fades to a simple white.

Naminé pretends to feel bad for Sora's sake, for the girl's sake, because she is slowly taking over their memories…

But she likes the fact that, despite this… he still 'loves' her. Maybe, she'll repay him one day…

She'll take away the blanks.


	12. Bloom

Fire bloomed across the dark skies, blasting the stars out in spinning flowers. Far below the short-lived glows and loud explosions, a red-head twirled and danced around; the flickering blooms above echoing his very motion in fire and sound.

Two others watched him – a girl and a boy. Mesmerized by the agility and lights, two pairs of blue eyes darting across everything, drinking in the fading sights.

"And that's why I'm the Flurry of Dancing Flames, got it memorized?"

"Less ego, please. The big head's blocking all of the show out."

"I do not happen to be big-headed little Rox. You just happen to be small."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how-"

"Will you? I'm down to the last of my sea salt… and yours are next on my 'to-eat' line."

Laughter pealed across them, the girl racing across with popsicles grasped in a hand, the other weaving sparks of light into the air and ground.

"Firework war's on?"

A small bloom of flame hovering in front of his blue eyes was an answer… at least, until he tripped over a snake of glimmer weaving low.

o-o

Somewhere far, far away in the nearest city, they wondered what the special occasion was.

And really, who had planned the pyrotechnics – probably was a genius.

Broke by now, in all possibility.

o-o

"Being the only one who truly wields fire, I declare myself the winner, Roxas and Xion."

"On whose authority?"

"Mine, of course."

"You know, your head might just be visible from over there…" A gloved hand points off in the distance, not caring about the direction.

"Well, let them see – a guy and his two best friends, out firework gazing."

"Good excuse, save…"

A snap of fingers, and the fire returned to bloom across the skies, laughter rolling down below it.

o-o

Morning evidently found them sleepy and not really able to wield a weapon, much less go out on any kind of mission.

But running around to escape after the last firework (courtesy of Axel) had bloomed in front of Saïx's face.

He deserved it, didn't he?

* * *

><p>A.N. – They might be OoC, but I tried my best to keep 'em from that… And not really a couple, but grew accustomed to the three of 'em together (damn game...)<p>

Beyond TheClouds, xDarknessAngelx: a round of applause to you for the reviews!


	13. Real

Contrary to common belief, the inhabitants of the Haunted Mansion in Twilight Town were very much alive. And, like all living beings, required food and other miscellaneous supplies – with a particular focus on art paraphernalia.

However, following certain expectations… it was Naminé who usually would go out to acquire most of them. It had something to do with DiZ being just too conspicuous, a deep-rooted desire to see the outside world and pencil preference.

Also, she knew just the best shop…

o-o

Olette kept shuffling around boxes of notepads, mumbling to herself something about the sea-salt ice-cream discount for employees not being worth the crazy hours and boring job.

But who cared? When it was fo- there she goes again, only three people – she had to buy ice-cream for… every single munny counted.

The bell chimed, a 'hello' racing to open the door. There was that girl, the really pale one who was sort of out of place. The one who had a fixation with drawings and star-shaped charms…

And the best customer ever. With a goofy smile, Olette piled up some pads, pens, food... a couple of muffins for luck, and one of the really pretty flower-shaped pencils that had arrived.

Then it hit her. Why, of all things, she thought that she had to ensure she had four bars of ice-cream at the end of the day.

o-o

As always on shopping days, Naminé would return later than usual, a small stick in her hands. The bickering of that trio always left her with great ideas for her drawings…

Although, some deleting was always needed as well. But she left enough in their minds to not make her doubt her reality; maybe, just for this one time, that needed changing.

There was a project they had to do, right?

o-o

Olette looks over at the small gallery of drawings that decorate the shop, signed simply 'N'. She is the star of a few of them – sometimes with Hayner and Pence, sometimes all alone.

The bell chimes, someone goes in…

Someone goes out, and she is not aware of anything but a small scrap of paper with mysteries scribbled neatly in.

For real? Anyways, beyond her… she needed a project idea. And this one sounded great!

o-o

Well, having to be alone for a while was worth it, to have visitors so near…

Even if she had to pretend she wasn't real for a small while. But then, she never really was.

A.N. – There is this one fic that has been kicking around in my brain… props if you figure it out. This one is, as per usual, friendship :) See you around, thanks to all for reading!


	14. Party

If there was a thing that the Land of Departure couldn't give; parties definitely had to be it. Probably it was due to the low number of inhabitants (they had to go off-world for food, light's sake), or the fragile-looking architecture.

However here, in Castle of Dreams – with spindly pavilions and a jewel of a castle rising in the distance like the peaks of his 'home world'… there was a party the likes of which he'd rarely seen, much less imagined. Terra doubted that the reason that he was still watching the spiraling dances and too ostentatious dresses could have imagined them either…

But she had certainly stepped into her dream come true, in tasteful clothing and borne here by fairy dust and wished. Cinderella positively gleamed that night – surely enough, it couldn't be only because of the magic at play.

As if thinking of her in a way was an enchantment, she glided over. A cloud of silver-blue, a fallen star treading lightly across manicured gardens.

"Why are you not in, enjoying the ball?"

"I'm… not supposed to…"

"That's nonsense!"

"How's your dream night going?"

"Well, but…"

"But what?" As the almost-royal escort, he had to ensure that the lady enjoyed her stay. Disregard the fact that Terra was watching her dance in his mind's eye with a prince that looked a shade too much like him.

"It's not a wish come true without my friends. So, dance with me?"

"I, well-"

"It is not polite to refuse a lady, Sir Terra…"

He nodded, and assumed a pose aping that of the dancers within the glossy halls.

o-o

As he wasn't the prince, he eventually had to relinquish his dancing partner. Since he hadn't seen her since, Terra assumed that it must be the prince dancing with her – solely he could keep her for so long uninterrupted…

He might as well make it a point: coming and going to balls. Terra would need dancing skills if he wanted to charm another fairy-like girl to him. Although, he assumed that none could be just like Cinderella, the light of the party.

In more ways than one, he thought.


	15. Eyes

When Naminé first saw into the Replica's eyes, she saw little more than empty aqua and a glint of life to be. A perfectly blank canvas: for most artists a dream; for the memory specter it was just another work to do and (fake) world to ruin.

Although, seeing those eyes blink out the drowsiness of un-life was quite the spectacle. And to see someone outright smile at the sight of her… it was comforting. Warm even – the fact that it was a puppet gazing lovingly at the one who wielded the strings not registering.

* * *

><p>She worries a bit more over him when those eyes begin to take in emotion. There is pride: clearly, she has managed to give him something she simply doesn't have…<p>

But she can't take the sight of his rage over namelessness. Over being only a copy, the original traipsing around the castle. That Naminé, like the real girl, was more focused on Sora. Or the other shadows that rose from the lower levels to taunt or… well, she'll just say that Repliku (as she dubbed him) was a zealous guardian, and love struck to top it off.

She still likes the happiness about him when he sees her. The care when he realizes that, at least, he can truly feel… maybe almost is. Naminé liked drawing those not-quite unique aqua eyes with joy shaping them, or with other emotions in his palette giving them a form.

It is impossible to do so with her own eyes, at least.

* * *

><p>Replica pays more attention than usual to the faces of people. Partly because of the strict etiquette drilled into him, partly because of tactical needs… partly because Naminé seems to like drawing them the most.<p>

Around him, people tend to have huge eyes: mirrors to souls that aren't quite there, darkened out of the reflection or twinkling beyond reach. There are exceptions though – Sora's eyes have a blinding gleam. His original's have more than one layer behind them; at least one of them is the gold of past taint.

And Naminé's eyes: the clear blue of the sea… he can't quite believe that she really is like the black-clad others…

But he'll make sure she stays happy and by his side. He'll ask her why she draws eyes so much.

* * *

><p>A.N. – Repliku is, funnily enough, one of my favorite characters… And please please please ignore I ran on over the limit...<p>

Thanks for reads/reviews! Props to you for sticking around so far – this continues, but hey: credit where it's due, and a story is little without those who read it!


	16. Sky

Xion would always be tilting her head towards the sky, searching its high vault. It varied wildly, so unlike the static Nobodies. From blushing dawns (which she rarely saw) to crystalline ice-cream blue, to veiled nights and alluring sunsets…

It was no secret that she craved the sky, to feel it overhead or trace fingers across far away clouds…

It was Roxas who brought the sky down to her. From that mission in which she finally found a weapon, to the moment she pulled up on the tower to watch the sunset spreading itself over the town like a blanket.

And while the moments spent perched over Twilight Town were near and dear to her… some of the best moments had to be those in which she found herself scanning the skies trying to match the color of Roxas's eyes.

* * *

><p>Skies were not always clear. At times, they'd bring her the shadow of someone else's smile, the feel of glaring suns that weren't there…<p>

Memories that didn't belong and felt treacherous to her head. And those same skies would flick across Roxas, and threaten with slim slivers of air to chase his non-existence away. Xion would, in those cases, will the color away from the radiant blue he had…

It worked little, and the skies would make off with his smile and a bit of substance. Wordlessly, she handed him a sky-blue bar; it was over faster than usual, though it probably was her trying to devour the hungry skies.

* * *

><p>Xion had to make her final battle end in the air. It had begun there too, before darkness had wrapped around them – but she wanted her beloved skies to see her finale. To take her own self over Roxas's, to give them the shadows they craved.<p>

Maybe, they'd be satisfied that way.

She doesn't expect the small skies in his face to swell and pour, raining down something that shouldn't have been possible…

But it doesn't matter now. He'll be able to enjoy the skies as she once did… even if two become just one. The sunset takes over – fittingly enough.


	17. Confusion

Roxas would be perpetually confused by the flashes of unknown stories racing through his head. Worlds he'd never seen, people he never spoke to (though some did react as if he had), actions he would've never performed, willingly or otherwise.

But, Roxas was stuck with whoever was trampling around in his brain. And his weapon as well – at least, he had left something useful along with the flutter of thoughts and waking up drowsier than the night before…

And, whoever that boy was – he wanted to be him. Yes, having a heart would be a plus… but the serene red-head that would tantalize him from behind closed eyes was what probably was driving him to that.

Roxas, logically, couldn't understand why. All he saw was a radiant girl perched in a star-fruit tree. But something echoing under the black cloak told him that there was much more behind the indigo eyes and the smiles. Something told him that he was supposed to be close to this one girl, and it confused him.

How can he be close to someone who he doesn't know at all? Maybe his brain is addled enough to mix in Xion's features with Axel's fiery mane… nope, that just drives him a bit further up the walls. It is not either of them, even if she has a fiery 'attitude' and the soft tones of the sea.

But, at least it is a comfortable confusion. The girl that parades behind his eyelids can soothe him as much as a sunset with his friends. When – make that if, because his world is tattering a bit at the edges – when he, Roxas, gets a heart…

He'll make sure to ask the girl who she is, and clear off the confusion weaving in his head. Maybe she'll like ice-cream as well, and it will be four people perched somewhere enjoying a treat, both of them holding hands.

For now, he'll just ward off the faraway gaze from his eyes. Focus on the battles at hand – he can always fade back to black later, see the phantom in his mind.


	18. Hello

If Braig's honest, he doesn't expect a hello from the newcomer. Comes with literally crashing out of nowhere smack dab in the middle of the tiled plaza in the heart of Radiant Garden. And the obvious amnesia that hovered over him- and if Braig's honest, he wouldn't expect himself to actually be able to put up with standing, much less working in that state.

But Braig _isn't_ honest, and with too much pride for a guardsman to admit. And hey, anything he doesn't want there hasn't crossed over to their world.

(And as for the little shadowy nuisances… some other guy's fault. He'll find a suitable scapegoat soon enough, when his days on paid leave for his eye are over.)

So he goes and mock religiously says hello to the newcomer- Xehanort, he's teasing to say but darts around it until he says it mock-exasperated and in monotone. Bastard could never really manage anything more than that.

"Look, you can't have really forgotten me, eh?"

Golden-eyed glare, two-eyed glare and Braig _might_ have to physically tear him from Even and Ansem's cold hands before he is reduced to a common not-so-cackling mad scientist.

"Where are my manners? _Hello_, guess that's it-" A long hiss, an X implied, before he plays along with the silencing glare in all but spirit.

At least, Xehanort still doesn't flinch when Braig tosses his arm haphazardly around his shoulders and grins, wide enough to show fangs.

If Braig's perfectly freaking honest, and not the half-hearted thing he puts up when he's asked for solemnity, he fully expects this guy to bodily shove him off after the days melt to weeks to a month or so.

But it's Xehanort. Man's implacable and too much of a stoic to actually shrug him off. He rather chooses pointed glares and silence, and they are not working this time around.

He then realizes he'd been biding his time, old geezer slowly, until he breaks a really boring bomb.

"Hello."

"Sorry, as _if_ I'd be contented with that."

"Then don't. It isn't required for any event that's planned to happen."

"Oh, so you still remember-"

A grin- and the bastard can grin when he's 'younger' and it looks just as unsettling as it did before, not that Braig's admitting it- before Xehanort leaves and Braig chases after him.

He's not being cut off mid-sentence.


	19. Safe

Studying the architecture of other worlds would have been interesting for Naminé if she could truly feel it at all. Or if said artist was left free to wander: for now, Naminé had a hidden escort of shadow-beings eagerly aiming claws at the statues and the high columns.

And at a tin man, with an unruly mop of jet-black hair rising in all-too common spikes. With deep blue eyes smiling at everything around, including a curious memory witch.

"Hey! Isn't it a bit risky to go around the Coliseum on your own, little girl?"

Naminé almost told him that she was never truly on her own, to warn him about the deadly extremities aimed at him (though maybe that was to see other expressions beyond radiant smiles or disinterest). So she just stared at him, wondering just how wasn't he sweltering under the sun in his armor and how did his hair stick up so, even if it was tamer than others.

"I'm Zack, hero in training. May I escort you to your seat in the… I-can't-remember-the-name-ses?"

'Zack' had extended a hand to her, bowing slightly. A knight in the traditional tin suit. Maybe he felt it was his duty as a hero-to-be…

It might have become said duty when some heartless bounded out, dead-set on his heart. And when Naminé's own escort leaped out, either on defense or lured by Zack's proximity. It didn't matter much anyways: he was an adept warrior, and swept the ground with both types of enemies.

Zack's armor was a bit battered now, gouged and scratched. He grinned a bit more – "The others will _swear_ I've been places! Not that it isn't _true_, but…"

He spun Naminé in a small circle, the smile becoming a bit more evident in her face.

"So, lady girl: after that demonstration, would you care for a hero to take you to the shows?"

Naminé bit back the comment about her being no mere meek girl… but she saw no memories of Sora in Zack's mind, rendering her skills without use. Naminé still smiled, extending a hand.

His performance was extraordinary, as if he had been here once before. No matter: Zack's pass was to be Naminé's memory and hers alone.

Maybe she'd feel a bit safer now, with his smile in her head.

A.N. – Neither Zack nor I remember how those are called in English O_o Anyhow; this also has a 'dedicatory' of sorts: this one is for Zexiontwo (a small bit of help in one of my other fics). However, I hope you all enjoyed, and apologize if he's sort of OoC (I based him off a smallish bit in BbS, so…)


	20. Ring

Aqua was quite deft with her hands. While this translated into beautiful yet deadly strikes with the Keyblade… it also meant that she had a way with creative projects.

It had all started with fixing out her small Mark. It soon evolved into decking small objects in coils of gold, or dripping rainbow-glass. Somewhere along the line, Aqua heard about the legend of the star-shaped fruit. The unbreakable connection.

Her 'masterpieces' had begun to be born back then. Three jewels, embraced by metal, their Mark beating proudly in their middle. They'd keep their hearts connected, whatever the distance…

But those weren't the only ones she made. Somewhere inside her room in the Land of Departure, there was a small chest. With a couple more magic locks, to dissuade the curious wielders who would soon receive a broken-off scrap of sky. And inside, jewels glittered.

Most of those were works never-to-be. Failed attempts at re-creating the silver pin on her chest. A couple drafts of the Wayfinders, with extra copies of the glass petals on them. Aqua's own jewels, sparingly used, dust collecting on gleaming metal. And a pair of rings.

She had meant to give one of those away. To _someone_, but she didn't quite have _that_ sort of courage. Aqua would never fall under the definition of meek or passive – she did wield a Keyblade and deserved the nickname of Spellweaver for a reason…

But to Terra…

Aqua would give him the sunset-sky star. The one with the sole gold heart in its chest – a sun to shine on the blue heavens of her own charm. She _wished_ she could give him over the other connection, the small ring she crafted.

A more personal connection, something that Aqua had also picked off her world. Just two people, bonded together deeper than friendship – that was what she truly wanted to gift Terra with.

She'd wait though. After the Mark of Mastery, when both of them stood bold together. Terra was, well, stubborn. Terra would think she was _such a girl_…

The ring's meaning could go over his head now and then, though.


	21. Fire

Larxene played with fire with the _sole_ aim to get burnt. There was never any other point: she really couldn't be _bothered_ by attempting to feel anything and just falling back to nothing…

Larxene didn't even consider that. There had to be storms – a flicker of danger. Make that _many_. And, to her, there also had to be raging blazes underfoot – a testament to her glory.

Lightning could not keep her adrenaline up for long, like a flurry of dancing flames could. Then again, mere fire could never really hope to attain the infernal heat of a bolt of ozone.

Larxene could simply _not_ burn with simple lowly flames, or be brought down by a boy. Lightning quick, struck by lightning – there was a _reason_ that those were almost deadly words.

She neared Axel, trailing needle-blades across a leathered chest. Grinning like that ridiculous cat somewhere else; the stumble-step taken by her prey amusing her to no end.

But wouldn't little red dull down the fiery smile?

* * *

><p>Axel <em>let<em> Larxene half-climb on top of him. The step back? Merely a fake action. A talon aimed at your hollow chest was something he wanted to avoid, in any case. And Axel heard that lightning always aimed high.

_Too high_, in this phantom girl's case.

Sure, lightning was too fast to catch, too awe-inspiring to control…

But really, for how long did it _exist_? Energy raced along the skies, igniting all in its furious path, only to disappear at the hint of a second.

Larxene would do so as well – hell, _he'd_ probably do so as well…

But for now, Larxene was leaving. Tracing behind her lightning-talons and a single thread of liquid red. The electric show was over – soon as always, Axel thought.

Fire always outlasted hungry lightning, vaulting across darkened skies to the abyss below. What he lacked in speed, he had in survival.

How long, then, until the last sparks died out…

Axel stuck with Larxene just to race the searing speed – it was never anything else.

Fire would eat up the stolen thunder across the white sometime soon.

* * *

><p>A.N. – exactly 350! And I went for vitriol or snark here… not really a pairing. Not that I sink this ship, but actually trying my hand at other personalities :) hope you liked it, and leave comments on how I did here if it so (dis)pleases you!<p> 


	22. Feeling

Vanitas was not fond of _feelings_. Sure, they were the most useful tools – but viewing them as anything other than the feral, lethal emotions-to-be of the Unversed was useless to Vanitas. At least, he was frankly too_ bored_ to go around feeling anything much.

He had field days with Aqua though. No, Vanitas didn't get the free-for-all rampant emotions that would garner ranks of Unversed. Or the facades of cool indifference mirrored back to his face.

Aqua actually showed her feelings. Bared them to the world(s) at large…

And became ever so strong (_infuriating_) because of it. Mind you, to a being like Vanitas - who either ran on 'I don't care' or 'consider yourself dead' – rage was the equivalent of, dare he say it:

Infatuated. Obsessed. Enamo-

Not that last one of course. That was just some of the vocabulary Vanitas rescued from some doomed world or other. Vanitas was above such a word; 'enamored' _him_?

_Please_, the hawks _never_ fall for the little bluebirds. Tweet tweet, Aqua dear – go fly to your empty nest.

However, as it works out… this little Aqua-bird liked meddling around with his affairs. And hurting (_now, was he really-?_) her feelings was entertaining. Having a Keyblade, limned with light to devour, aimed at his chest…

Vanitas could glean some feelings from there. Aqua – bluebird – had him in her radar. Yes, the kill on sight list-

Best list of all. He could work to, oh, just about anywhere…

_Now, lady in armor, will you let me into that heart of yours?_

_Not that I care-_

_Yes, I do._

The darkness would leap and careen around him when a thought of a blade (a black-clothed hand connected to his arm) grazed Aqua's lithe shape. A sound from her? Laughter Vanitas didn't know he could articulate without her presence.

_That_ was what he wanted – the thrilling feelings of a mutual hunt. Aqua might not have been the original target; hey, make that she was an obstacle.

So much the better – licking off at that light would be so entertaining…

Shutting it off was boring even in his head.

A.N. – my most sincere apologies for the schedule slip (I blame history projects) and two extra words. To all you people who make Vanitas a bird aficionado: I have been assimilated to that ;) Hope you enjoyed!


	23. Lies

Twilight Town was beginning to reek of lies and sea-salt mixed with the sunsets. The missing – blank – and the not quite facts were, frankly, driving Roxas up the yellowy walls.

The man with the blazing mane of hair and too alive eyes was doing that most of all. Too outlandish to truly belong, with a half-expression: 'I'm lying to you, really I am'.

Roxas felt he should know that man. More than Hayner or Pence, at any rate – because friends didn't forget that there were four of them, or what the –blanks – were. And lying to Roxas was, apparently, the new big thing:

_No,_ there weren't zipped-up wisps of dawn-light careening around town.

_No_, there wasn't a shadow-girl behind the white curtains, blue eyes staring listlessly outside.

_No_, the man borderline stalking them was not there. Or in Roxas's head - that was Roxas lying to himself.

And no, the other Struggle competitor was not, how to put it... odd physically?

Would everyone - not-there redhead with a smirk included – quit their babbling?

The only reason why he let said redhead speak on was…

It _was_…

Ah, well, not now. Roxas wanted his name and the reason why-

_A key and sunsets with white lies bringing him a bit more substance. That redhead laughing his head off – the blinking sun swallowing the tresses and please don't finish leaping off into the distance like the drowsy orb._

Great – now there were lies in his head, replaying days that didn't happen.

Roxas wanted to be in that dreamscape though. With the man (he wasn't that old, now that he thought about it) at his side.

o-o

Axel traced slim fingers over yet another _photograph_ of Roxas – the Assassins had made an art form of stealing them, making off with the very word even.

It didn't bring _Roxas_ any closer to Axel, though.

And no matter how many lies cluttered the protective sunset, Axel grew annoyed at this particular deception.

No memories of him, nothing to show that this was all fabrication save for an almost-real Axel who was reaching out…

For the one lie both of them needed to feel real.

* * *

><p>A.N. – hello (again) all: who else likes Axel's sort-of bipolaritycharacter development/whatever? I sure do…

Any case… I don't even know how I take this as, so I guess you could take it as you so wished (any really creative or outlandish ones: leave 'em in the comments!)

See you around!


	24. Song

Demyx thought that the Coliseum was just not his world. Really, who'd send him to a world mostly focused in arena combat?

So, when there… Demyx did what he excelled at. No, not running away – although that was certainly within his repertoire.

Demyx ran off to do recon. Find out about the world itself; get some discount on items from the locals…

Hear the small posse of ladies sing their stone heads off in half the gardens…

Wait, did Demyx just hear song?

* * *

><p>The Muses were fairly sure they knew who lived here. Well, not everyone… but anyone that might require their divine inspiration (or who had an attentive ear for gospel and music) was almost family to them.<p>

So the teenager in the odd toga (with hood and sleeves, go figure) piqued their interest. Only to be amplified when – from apparently nowhere – water surged.

They hadn't seen a sea being in… well, was it this century or the last one…

Still, the oversized lyre had a gorgeous sound. Now, that was something to pass on to the coming artists.

* * *

><p>Demyx still didn't like the Coliseum much. There was still too much of a fighting atmosphere, and getting sent (repeatedly) to the Underworld was no better. Something about sardonic bosses with overworked underlings reminded him too much of 'home'.<p>

So Demyx still did what he was best at – no, not running away again. Playing the sitar; sneaking 'out of bounds', finding a spot and just playing a non-existent heart out.

Obviously, he'd pretend to disregard the song of the statuesque women around him: Demyx soon found out that they liked hard-to-help people. The short, round one specially – she'd regularly out-sing and out-speak her sisters.

And Demyx liked beating them all at that game, by singing water into deadly dances and weaving waves.

* * *

><p>Some distance away, a potter saw the spectacle. The dance of the Muses' statues and the rising song.<p>

Some years later, vases with the image of a boy with odd hairdo, long sleeves and lyre would be the rage both within and without the Underworld.

Later, they'd all be smashed up – like the shadow-boy at their centers.


	25. Attempt

All of Vanitas's current existence could be resumed as: attempts.

Attempts to get out of Sora's light, to go back and show those pathetic little Heartless just _how _havoc was wreaked.

Attempts to get Ventus to quit _influencing_ the boy – Vanitas would never get himself out with all that warmth and unusual emotions around.

Attempts to get what darkness he found under his rein –_ hey_, maybe Sora would get better with a couple of dark skills… not to mention, Vanitas got to go out and _play_.

But Vanitas wouldn't be stuck here if they had been successful, right?

Back to the drawing board…

* * *

><p>Xion's existence – or lack thereof – could also be simply put as attempts.<p>

Attempts at reconnecting with what there was of Roxas still here, lurking alive in Sora.

Attempts to finally walk back into _anyone's_ mind, to gain a bit of what Xion had willingly lost…

Attempts to figure out just _who_ was that shadow with bored gold eyes, smirking and whispering soft promises of the dark to the boy Xion had gone to such ends to help.

And, needless to say – attempts to _shut him up_. Xion would not have her forgotten sacrifice go to waste – she swore as much when she faded.

* * *

><p>Vanitas would like to know why exactly there was an <em>extra<em> specter here. It wasn't the same girl as previous – thankfully, there was no glare from the light.

Vanitas would like to know who the faded shadow _was_ as well. And why she made to snarl and complain at him so – yeah, he wasn't including _her_ in his schemes…

But why would little blackbird want to keep the lights _on_? She'd be just so free, like the rolling waves, if someone would just dull down Sora _a little_…

Vanitas would like to know why is he caring about little bird-shadow so much. Maybe it has something to do with the Keyblade she keeps almost-waving in his face.

* * *

><p>Eventually, Vanitas got bored of simply trying to darken up Sora suitably. Xion – no, blackbird – was beginning to be more entertaining…<p>

He enjoyed her attempts to bring some light into him…

Funnily enough, they_ might_ work this time round._ If_ Vanitas gets bored enough, that is.


	26. Blind

A.N. – because it is long overdue: an insanely big round of applause to Kiryn for the reviews! And to you readers as well; whoever and wherever you are :) Without much further ado – on to the fic!

* * *

><p>Riku had willingly chosen to blind himself. Wait, that didn't come out as planned – Riku had willingly chosen to tie a blindfold on. Same difference really… but it made a bit more sense without the implications of taking a blade to his face or something.<p>

This blindfold was most of the reason that his current companion was eyeing him with an unusual frequency. Being a marionette, Riku would assume that Xion would be less mystified by this.

Being a manifestation of darkness, Riku doubted that Xion would understand the reasons behind it anyways. Still, he felt something under her gaze. Discomfort and annoyance and…

Xion looked too much like Kairi, or Sora even, right now. It hurt, to see a replica of those so dear to him staring at Riku like he was, he was…

_Twisted, that was it. Dark and no one to boot._

It made just one more reason to keep himself blind – or almost blind, light kept filtering through anyways.

Just to avoid that darkened wonder in Xion's eyes.

* * *

><p>Riku can't believe what little he sees later on. Tame Xion, grinning ever so wildly (like his best friend did long ago), or black locks of hair blinking back and forth to deep red.<p>

Xion, lying prone on the ground, mumbling out in what seems too much like pain. Or clinging desperately to Riku – back to someone she was never supposed to know. And Riku just trying to bring her back to him – no, to Sora, because Xion should be there. Not almost draped over him, sending Riku's heart racing out towards…

_I'll be shutting up now._

If it hurt _previously_, when it was just a pair of shadows gazing confused at him…

Riku couldn't bear to see just how faded Xion was becoming – the black of the blindfold did wonders for him.

But it does little when Xion places her hands on his, entwining fingers that are light as air. Or the laugh that sounds too much like someone else's.

Even not-quite blind, Riku just wants Xion to sound like Xion. _Be_ Xion…

And stay by his side, like now.


	27. Simple

To Naminé, it could be mind-bogglingly _simple_. Not really.

Just who was she trying to amuse, anyways? Naminé was tearing down Sora's memory again. Under prison in an equally bland castle for an equally bland girl – again. Sure, there were no more weapons aimed at her – so, it should be ever so simple to just comply.

Go do as some other man says, be a good girl… and when the time comes to be deleted, it won't hurt.

Naminé fears that as much as she possibly can. But she scribbles on – doesn't she just owe Sora that?

_Calm down. He'll help you, same as he'll help me._

That is nearly enough to make her drop the pencil. A rogue memory… interacting with the person tasked to bend it to her will.

It kept getting complicated, right?

_Hey, you okay?_

_Hello?_

* * *

><p>To Naminé, it was still absurdly simple. Go bring the far-off stories to paper, and rearrange the scenes at will.<p>

Go feel the whispering winds speaking encouragement to her.

_Whoa… that place looks awesome…_

_Weren't you there, Ventus?_

_Eh…_

An imaginary rub on his head – Naminé gets to feel a whirl of breeze leaping around her. She can just barely picture the boy who calls himself Ventus.

Or at least, the swift smiles and mirror-sky eyes. That was all Naminé needed for now, anyways.

_So… what's this place now?_

* * *

><p>Something, at least, became <em>truly<em> simple. When Naminé begun to stumble upon those acts that weren't part of Sora's story…

_Hey! That's mine!_

A mental stutter, a flutter of leaves outside her window.

… _Well, draw it nicely. Or make it scary, like it was when I was there…_

_Ventus?_

It turns out; Ventus also had an interesting story to tell.

Logically, Naminé leaves it untouched. But she does add a snapshot at the end of her smiling down at a picture.

_There. Nice enough?_

Ventus begins trusting her with a couple scenes after that – to keep her happy, he says. As for Naminé herself…

Sora will have some work to do when he wakes up, she guesses.

_Make that 'we', Naminé._


	28. Argument

A.N. – read at risk of an inanely OC Cid (as I've yet to finish hunting down/collecting cash for the FF games…) Still, that said, this chapter was nice to write ;) Hope you liked it, and see you around!

* * *

><p>The arguments were long-winded and rapidly raising in tone. From outside the shop, passersby gaped at the cacophonies of clanging metals and shrill shrieks.<p>

Not that it was unusual at Cid's shop, but machines didn't answer back… most of the time.

To Cid's annoyance, squirrels did. How, it was beyond him. But, for the sake of argument:

There were two squi- chipmunks, as they had told him over the half-hour that they'd been here – arguing over the most recent Gummi Ship improvements. Chip, the black-nosed one, was the most vocal, squeaking out complaints and waving a minuscule wrench over his ears.

"… And how exactly do the world-finders work anyways? Our test drives, maybe some with Sora or Mickey, have gotten lost in the middle of…"

"Look, it's just Gummi. We just install, test it around, and do the best we can at fixing them. Then again, the system apparently works li-"

More ranting and a series of rapid-blast squeaks. More theories and rants and haggling over a price or two (just to keep up appearances – they've been hogging the store for a long time anyways):

It has been a grueling yet entertaining half-hour. Made better by a sweet deal or two, and notices on friends that Cid hadn't heard of in ages…

"Look, let's cut it. You're still a great builder, Cid!"

Now, wouldn't you know it…

* * *

><p>People would still hear arguments from inside Cid's shop, with the squeaks of Chip and Dale mixed in for variety. Most of the time, it was against one machine or other. The things just refused to collaborate at times, you know?<p>

Despite this, the shop has never really worked this well. It is quite the-

"Now, where have you left the capacitator, _again_?"

"Eh, you don't need it! We've put this in-"

Scurrying and words rising and falling in volume as the speakers race around, searching for coveted and contested pieces.

But everything sounds alright, even over the bickering. After all, everything has been getting itself off the ground_ perfectly_ recently.

Or failing_ spectacularly_, but that would be just to see what it's about _now_.


	29. Never

At first, when Axel had just found out that he was a tad more than nothing but a bit less than really something…

A lot of things had been sworn.

Never again to just go around _without_ a pretense.

Never again to grow close to others – Axel would end up losing them anyways.

Never again to say a truth, _any truth_, straight out.

Logically, like all non-heartfelt vows (as if they could do _those_), they were broken. In a spectacular manner, if Axel would get a say in this.

It all went along the lines of meeting Roxas and Xion. And, try as Axel might…

How long did it take? A month or so – 'feeling' authentic was one hell of a drug. Funnily enough, even though it was Roxas who he felt closer to…

It was Xion who could bring out that _almost genuine_ smile on his face. Or make Axel appreciate the hint of sugar in sea-salt like never before. Maybe it was due to the fact that, next to Xion, he was almost irrevocably true.

Axel ended up adding an extra vow:

Never leave these friends alone… _again_.

Axel has to, when it comes down to picking Xion _or_ Roxas. It is 'heartache' of proportions that he isn't quite sure _Lea_ would have managed…

But Axel tries. Any scrap of black? Xion. That one spell racing over to destroy a heartless? Xion.

She picked for him, after all.

Logically, even with his almost vow of 'never forget'… Axel ends up breaking it, beyond all repairs, this time around.

* * *

><p>Axel's mind is still reeling from the loss of… urgh, there was <em>someone<em> there, a name…

All he can recognize is the not-warmth and not-rage in Roxas's eyes. And the oath that almost raced out of his mind along with the person (_girl_, he was sure) he made it to.

Axel has to stop Roxas from leaving – all that's making him feel real is riding on that…

And the small hints of _someone else_ swirling behind the black outside. Axel tries being genuine to him, it was supposed to work…

It _never_ did, anyways.


	30. Colors

Larxene would not care to mention that there was still _some_ of the listless murdered girl inside her. Or that said girl would wake up at the sight of colors, of all possible things.

Larxene cared little for them, with their tinkling lures and foolish promises – unless they brought her another prey. Colors had brought her down to this white-drowned palace, after all. But, as a token of what passed for gratitude in both of them…

The claws that blazed along her hands were bright and shocking. Well, just so much to chase the bored not-Larxene away with glittering sparks of lightning.

* * *

><p>Larxene would still hunt down the elusive colors. To see them, or make sure that they were somewhere beyond her eyes or her hair or the racing Heartless.<p>

Surprisingly enough, it was a man who gave them to her. In the shape that Larxene would have preferred: the smooth motions of a dancing scythe, or the whistling of severed shadows.

It was enough to make the sleeping ghost wake up enough to want to aid who she'd later know as Marluxia.

Larxene would viciously _deny_ that due to this, she liked _pink_ the best. With a knife to your head, pinning the memorandum there.

There'd soon be a rose or some other flower twined around the blade. Larxene graciously allowed it.

* * *

><p>The hunt for colors continued as ever – most of the donations done by the generous heartless and a certain key-wielder who had a spot of amnesia.<p>

Still, what Larxene couldn't beat out of a shadow or coax out of a boy (who was too good a toy at times), she'd get out of the flowers.

You heard it right – Larxene, the whirlwind of blades and slashing smiles, would be able to _just_ be guided down a garden, like the insipid nymphs of yore.

Obviously, a garden of poison and thorns, with an ever-helpful Marluxia pointing out a couple details about this or that, a Heartless thrown in to sample.

Those were the most colorful plants, by the way.

She gained some appreciation for the danger-colors after that...

_Only_ when in Marluxia's sight, though.


	31. Shadow

A.N. – sorry for the schedule slip (again)… so, here we go with another chapter! Hope you enjoy, and comments are appreciated.

By the way, I didn't steal from Mr. Poe with the first line – believe me, I checked ;)

* * *

><p>And that which was lost shall be found again nevermore…<p>

The shadow of a boy knew that well. Very, very well, when the empty pulse in his chest echoed wanting. Even more when Zexion spent half his conscious minutes stalking through the shadows that had named him, hunting down the living light…

And that one spark of warmth that haunted what passed for memories. A scrap of blood-silk red, eyes the color of twilight.

Thankfully, Zexion still had her name. _Kairi_. And it outright _flooded_ his mind at times, with the shadows of remembering what a young Ienzo had felt, or drowning a bit of himself in the reflected glow.

Shadows could never cope too well with direct light, Zexion knew. Shadows _needed_ that light though.

So Zexion tried to get back that small sliver of faded glow, to be able to face Kairi straight on…

_No, that was Ienzo speaking._ Zexion just wanted to be able to cast a shadow rather than just be one.

But, and here Zexion agreed with the ghost-boy lost in the shadows…

Zexion would rather _Kairi_ be his light once more. To see their hands linked again, or to show her another story hidden off between the pages of a book.

So, under another façade, Zexion hid the young boy that just wanted to find a heart and hand it over to his 'friend'. Managed to even hide the illusion of Kairi, by his side once more. And lock them between shadows and illusions and even beneath a lost castle, as if the shadows waiting there were precious.

And it was all going well, or so Zexion thought – sure, most of the members stationed here were dead, but they had _almost_ made it…

Shadows can as easily fall prey to the dark. As clichéd as it sounded, Zexion _did_ see a light at the end:

A whispered snapshot of Kairi, waving out towards nowhere, and a radiant smile on her face. He raced in her direction, managed to wrap faded arms around her, tried to just say-

No air, soon nothing but flickering shadows.


	32. Innocence

Axel didn't like looking backwards that much:

Days with Isa, of _all_ people. Days in which they'd just glare out of windows, hurl Frisbees and sneak out of their curfews for a bar of sea-salt.

The days in which a smirking Isa would bail out Lea _yet again_ from some other punishment – always at the cost of a favor. (Lea never looked at the boy the same way _again_, mind you…

Even if Axel had forgotten that already).

Or those days in which they'd forget that they were innocent kids – when Isa and Lea would just comment on _those_ scientists, and wonder just what was outside the sparkling sky…

That was usually Isa. Lea would just concern himself with being remembered beyond his time. And, inevitably, their moments of contemplation would end with a joke, a hug (best friends _did_ that, _you idiot_) and laughter to wave them back to their homes.

Saïx didn't like looking backwards much either.

Isa would be staring into the heart-shaped moon at times, leaving Saïx to wander back and forth between memories.

They had both _changed_ too much – Isa still had trouble accepting that Lea _didn't have_ the flame-patterned Frisbees. Or that the moon that had been for so long a calming influence and a moment in which Lea would _finally shut up_-

No, the moon was not a safe thing now. Nor was Axel… or Saïx himself for that matter. And Isa would just quietly think about those innocent times, in which they still ran away from _Even_, or formed a band of brothers with the wind.

Or when conspiracy just meant the best way to evade being grounded or to bail Lea out from a roof. (Mind you, Isa made him pay for _that_ dearly…

And Saïx just can't remember what Lea had to do…)

But now, innocence was a thing of the past, when it was just two mischievous boys in the sunshine, sneaking away together.

Not ever when it was VII and VIII – the two assassins behind a smile or a tower of paperwork. Still, they'd go back to that…

_Sometime_, Saïx hoped. If Lea stopped changing…

Or Isa accepted_ he_ had.


	33. Roses

Beast's castle had been famed for its master, once upon a story. That story had everything good fairytales had: the evil beast, the fair maiden, a curse and a charming prince.

It just so happened that the villain and the prince were the same.

* * *

><p>Belle had originally come following the sweet scent of roses. It had led her to the castle, to the curse, and to falling prey to the story.<p>

She hadn't planned for that… but she would try to help. The servants were friendly to her all the time and Beast himself didn't act like his appearance would suggest.

* * *

><p>Belle would like to take that back after seeing the most wonderful rose – Beast can indeed go as berserk as his namesake requires.<p>

* * *

><p>Belle, however, will vouch for his great heart. And for the seriousness of the wounds…<p>

It is worth seeing him calm for a while, even if there are _still_ some hungry shadows about the castle.

* * *

><p>There is another man in the castle. Belle isn't sure what he is doing here…<p>

But she doesn't agree with how Beast arrives from trying to deal with him. Or the way that Beast is trying to protect her – being on lockdown once was trying enough.

Beast still tries to apologize with books and roses – Belle would rather he return without wounds _for once_.

But, he is still returning at least.

* * *

><p>Xaldin, as mystery man has revealed himself, is certainly worth Beast's rage.<p>

And Belle's as well – she _will not_ be a hostage again. For a moment, she curses her lack of physical strength…

But there is no advantage like _surprise_.

Beast has never seen a rose look better than the time that Belle charged forwards, determined and glowing – a true princess.

Wait, they still assumed Beast was caring for the little thorny thing now?

* * *

><p>There is no recognizing Beast outside of his 'cursed' form at first. He is less of a presence now…<p>

No, that isn't true. The eyes are the same… and no one would offer Belle a rose in that manner, with a bow and a too-wide smile.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> – queen of saps here… I remember adoring this movie when I was young(er) ´w` good times, good times…

In any case, thanks for reading (1,222 hits? You guys get a cookie *hands over*), and extra thanks to those who have left reviews!

See you around!


	34. Letter

It felt _odd_, to be sifting through the unsent letters and secret reports that Aerith kept receiving. Yellowed envelopes and parchment-paper and the faint traces of ink sprawled over all surfaces, creating a veritable sea of letters.

But it didn't matter, for Aerith was currently on a mission – hunt down the oldest letters of the lot. Or close to that… _he_ hadn't sent a letter in long enough…

Aerith really hopes that his calligraphy hasn't improved any – it is the only thing that will set Zack's correspondence apart.

That, or the fact that hunting down 'Z's in names _should_ have been easy.

No luck yet, but Aerith is nothing short of determined – she'll be finding those old letters soon.

* * *

><p>Zack was still in the hero training process. With all of his experience, Zack hadn't expected it to take such an asinine amount of time…<p>

But seeing Cloud again? Man, that had felt good – he had come a long way since last time!

And… maybe, just maybe, good-guy that Cloud was:

"Hey, you heard _anything_ about Aerith?"

It isn't much, but Zack gets an address and updated notes on the use of inter-world mailing. Finally, Zack gets a bit of the taste of the hero's life:

Coming back to your sweetheart… and the deadly cooking.

Well, surviving that will _look_ good. Not to mention the fact that, to see Aerith again, a plate of her cuisine should be a minor issue.

* * *

><p>Aerith <em>would<em> have jumped to see a ruffled envelope covered in Zack's script. _Would_, had she not been paralyzed by…

_Nostalgia and those first smiles and arriving alone to a new world, with barely a blue flower or two, much less Zack's smile…_

Many things, but the letter had brought them back to the forefront of her mind. And half of Aerith's mind wants to shoot a couple of her holy spells at Zack.

The other half of her can't wait for Zack to _finally_ reach her back, as promised once upon another world.

* * *

><p>Zack <em>expected<em> to find Aerith in someplace like a (renewed) Radiant Garden. And logically, she is the world's light…

Right now, maybe it's literal: Zack marveled at another spell-

Just to stumble into her arms, and a warm 'Missed you.'

A hero's welcome indeed.


	35. Guilt

Riku is sick of guilt chasing and nipping at his heels. There is shock in Sora's eager eyes, and Xehanort's knowing smiles and the soft looks from – gah, he has forgotten _again_ – or the imagined frown to Kairi's eyes…

And then there is the way that Naminé keeps glancing at Riku from behind a notebook (_a shield_), and it's her face the one that keeps bringing the waves of guilt on.

Riku just can't get it right, can he?

Maybe the blame doesn't lie _totally_ with Riku this time around – one black cloak too many and someone (_something_) else masquerading as him _probably_ left Naminé like that. But it's the long-ago smiles and the way of looking at someone just like Kairi used to…

_A girl, lying helpless by his side, and Riku just **can't** wake her-_

Riku won't let Naminé fall into the typical routine: no betrayal, no attachment, no receding guilt-waves.

Ka- no, _Naminé_ – smiles again; it's all he can do to not hold her close and apologize for the shadows.

Both of them know it wouldn't have been for the witch's ears if Riku had said it.

* * *

><p>Naminé thinks she is better off here, when there is no 'forced' re-writing of memories.<p>

Seeing Sora sleeping in crystal… that's enough to trace cracks along her determination, ersatz-guilt and sadness threatening to race across the white and raze down everything to more scribbles.

But there is someone else here, who can probably feel this better than Naminé can – a boy with silver hair she's seen before, and erased smiles.

Naminé isn't sure that Riku can deal with her well – there is an emotion involved, and memories she probably could meddle with…

But there is someone who is also reeling from a recent mental blow. And, insofar as Naminé can care: Riku is _probably_ worried over both her and his friend.

Maybe, it might just work out _for once_ for them. Maybe, the guilt will go away, same as the blanks on their minds…

If Naminé decides to dye herself back in the stolen colors, and Riku walks into the light.

For now, Naminé is content with the company.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> - you guys have been _quiet_ recently... well, hope you're okay, wherever you are :) Thanks for reading...

Mind if I point you towards one of my one-shots? The newest one, 'There never were rejects'? Just to read out... plrobably feeling unwanted. Anyhow, thanks (again) for sticking around, and be seeing you!


	36. Time

Alice would be hard-pressed to bring back the past of Wonderland to her mind – in the ever-changing world; confusion is queen (along with her loyal cards).

There are still some constants here – time will flow, tea-time will happen and little ladies with pointed hats will lazily drift around before sharply darting into someone or other. Alice remembers having to be rescued from those ladies a couple of times.

Confusingly, the rescuer would have had a bit of a basis in her 'England' stories. A dashing man, with a familiar accent and the blue eyes rhapsodized about in fairytales. Alice certainly expected something odder, like the card-people or even a boy with legendary weapons…

Well, the man had an odd name _and_ cards tall enough to rival the flowers around her.

All Alice worries about is why the card-people who serve 'Luxord' have no faces.

* * *

><p>Luxord isn't as confused by Wonderland as he should be. He has had the luck of a friendly guide. A guide younger than him, by the name of Alice.<p>

But Lady Luck works in mysterious ways, which he won't question. It is just a matter of time and fortuitous draws.

Wonderland is the perfect place for a calming game of cards, once the sentries have been pointed elsewhere.

Alice isn't _bad_ at card games, though the concept of gambling was alien to her at first. But here, where chance reigned…

Luxord didn't expect her to be as witty or lucky. But after that, both expected each other to get along.

Fortunately they did.

* * *

><p>It isn't much known, but the Mad Hatter and the hare did get to finish their tea-time <em>once<em>, long ago.

It was before they had mocked Alice near Luxord – not that he cared.

But Lady Luck was most generous when the girl was happy…

And it wasn't as if anyone would care for who cast that time-warping spell either.

* * *

><p>Roxas thinks that there must be a stroke of luck involved with Luxord going with him in <em>most <em>Wonderland missions.

Roxas doesn't know Luxord is trying to check on Lady Luck's protégé… who _conveniently_ forgot him.


	37. Animal

_A.N._ – keheh… sorry (again) for schedule slips, but hope that your Halloween was great! This chapter? _Well…_ I'll leave it at a crack theory born of too many nachos, sugar-hyped friends and late-night Birth by Sleep playing (having to go through _that_ boss fight again for my friend's sake was a _baaad_ idea).

Well, see you soon!

* * *

><p>Larxene can still be astounded at how things look from certain heights. Human eye-level, for one example – even if you would suppose that Larxene would have taken that viewpoint as granted.<p>

Well, darkness is as darkness does… and certainly, Larxene missed having real claws rather than make-believe blades. But an issue for another time.

Musing over now-gloved hands wouldn't help her find a brother, would it?

* * *

><p><em>Stitch<em>, as he went by now, was startled by the electric-blue eyes spying from behind a shadow.

'Sparky' wasn't supposed to be that _tall_-

Or _out _of the 221 pill either. But then again, Stitch wasn't supposed to be playing tame animal – Stitch was so _much more_ than that, after all….

And well, 221 would go around and see that without the destroy-all mode on, things went along better.

* * *

><p>Larxene would have never dreamed of being demeaned to such extremes, even when the world was small and plastic or when water was one way to wake up violently.<p>

But a _pet_? Six-two-six, the young sibling with such _potential_, little more than a companion with exotic looks…

Somewhere else, all electric applications short-circuited. Larxene hadn't meant for that to happen-

There should have been someone fried on the ground. But that would have blown her cover.

* * *

><p>Stitch noticed the major malfunctions. It must have been 221, annoyed at not finding a place…<p>

Well, 221 wouldn't be _getting_ one like-

There was a woman staring down at Stitch, deep blue eyes zapping annoyance into the alien. From her hair rose twin strands of yellow that Stitch had seen before.

"Two-"

"Why won't you_ act_, little pet?"

The female – _221_, Stitch reminded himself – was almost snarling, eyes narrowed to slits. There was a current sparking along her fingers, and the cables overhead creaked in annoyance.

A showing of claws and shocks was all there was.

* * *

><p>Larxene bristled at her failure…<p>

But damned if she _cared_. 626 wanted to be just an animal? Well, not her problem.

Once Larxene got hold of the world, she'll show her sibling just how_ far_ she'd come from that showdown with the key-man.

For now, she'd let him pretend…

'Stitch' would be a nice pet for her once Larxene snapped him _out_ of it.


	38. Run

She runs.

And she pants that thought, breath catching even in her mind and Naminé is seriously not used to speeding along for any period of time. Much less a long one, when she's darting from corridor to corridor in the darkened prison block of Never Was.

Naminé wouldn't have assumed that the gigantic structure would hold such a complex, much less that the Nobodies would have a need for prisoners. But here she is, and here she is, glaring defiant down the corridor with a dog sitting at her side.

The expression softens a little when Naminé trips into sight, nearly running past the cell that holds Kairi. Maybe it's because she can see herself, if faded white and empty.

"Hello", she says, with quiet strength and a bit of weariness. A small introduction which Naminé chooses to ignore, or the events in Oblivion will really burn for a short while and she can't let it show. It might hurt her plans, or maybe she just wants a lack of antagonism from anyone for sure and for real.

"Is Sora alright?"

"Yes." It's all she can say, that he's alright and so very close. And Kairi's expression morphs into so much relief and there it is. Same as in the smallish snapshots of her in Oblivion.

Another morph- Naminé's slightly envious, that she can feel all of this, but it's her in full. It's expected of her.

The empathy should be a given too, although the fact takes a bit to catch up to Naminé. She supposes it was highly unusual- but then again, it's unusual that either of them is here. A princess and a Nobody on the run.

"You too, right?"

They nearly spend too long talking about him or the many shenanigans, the clicking of boots making Naminé flinch a little and Kairi turn on another of the glares that, in hindsight, aren't that threatening either.

A hand slips in between the bars, making a little grasp at Naminé's fingers before pulling back and beaming a reassuring smile. Not like Kairi can do much from behind the bars, but it's the gesture, Naminé thinks. Something about companionship, or growing somewhat close for having…

"He'll be here shortly, whoever he is. And don't worry, I'm sure everything will be alright in the end."

"I…"

"I'll remind him to bring you back. I promise. And I'll even make a point of staying in wait in the Islands if that's what-"

"You won't. I'll hold you to that."

Here, Kairi giggles a bit, muting it with her hand and the dog- Pluto- barking at an approaching stranger.

"I know you will. Take care. And…"

There's fondness in her eyes, for her boys and the girl in white across from her. Pluto tries to lick at her hand and Kairi shoots off a last remark as she retreats.

"Send him some love, okay? From the both of us!"


	39. Glass

Twilight Town could be downright awful at times, what with-

-the lag-

Wait? Well, disregard that. It felt generally odd – in a way that no hometown should have felt. Like looking through a glass display: fragile, beautiful, and _magnificently fake_.

Roxas couldn't take the missing much more – Struggle practice hadn't gone alright lately, and even _Pence_ was beating him to the clock tower, Kingdom Heart's sa-

Where had Roxas even _gotten_ that oath from?

_I know._

A whisper misting the glassy air around and a white girl-being dancing from a crystal shadow. A coy wave that didn't quite match the knowing playful smile or the blue-glass eyes.

She is a different type of false, apparently – the type of false that lures in and points that, as everything around is already synthetic and fragile, why _care_ about a crystal girl (_witch_, another lie whispers, but the pale figure shushes it down with a look and a twirl of color).

_I'll see you soon._

Glass-girl is gone back to the white-less crowds, who had begun (_again_, though Roxas forgot this fact another time) the normal lazy routines.

* * *

><p>Naminé isn't completely agreeing with her captor's plan. But it's a way to let Roxas gently out of his glass-world, and into the battleground. And well, Naminé has seen him for long enough – Roxas will need a friend.<p>

Even if Naminé is not really successful… but a bleached out specter can't compete with the full-colored memories she is trying to chase out.

Roxas is nice to draw - all feelings and colors and-

Naminé's memories of smiles were rusty at best, tricked-out in all cases. So, to see Roxas smile at times at what he can see of Naminé through the glass she puts between them…

It's worth it all, even promises she might have to do in an afterlife. Naminé knows her fate by now, and she _can't_ spare sun-smiled Roxas at all.

But at least she can make it bearable. She'll be his friend on the other side…

_Oops_. She is so now – from the other side of the illusion-glass.

_Can't wait to truly meet him._


	40. Hold my Hand

_Hold my hand…_

That had been a nightmare, long ago. When Sora and Riku were still stranded in Destiny Islands, and the days were just spent on how to get out or doing as Kairi wanted.

And way before, holding hands had just been a bit of help – the final push to clambering on top of the highest tree, or the time Sora almost flew down the wooden platform at the top.

Not in Sora's head though, where the outstretched hand was…

Whatever it was, Sora couldn't let his best friend fall down to the waves, or the unknown lurking behind closed lids.

* * *

><p>Sora tries to find everyone, but the darkness had been thorough in her quest to hide it all. But not from a determined boy – there are few things that can stand up to that.<p>

Riku will vouch for that, when Sora finds him alone in the shadows.

_Hold my hand; we'll get out of here…!_

When Sora wakes up somewhere else, and neither of his friends are snoozing as usual by his sides, he can only recall arriving empty-handed to their usual spots, to the wild grins and half-bothered complaints of his friends.

* * *

><p>They can barely recognize each other now – Sora with his lively radiance, Riku almost basking in the dark. But their reactions:<p>

_Take my hand – I won't hurt you if…_

He _will,_ though – not Riku, but _whoever else_ is there. Best friends don't simply attack each other. Sora still doesn't like how it feels, though.

* * *

><p>Kairi can't believe that they'd be so <em>thick<em>, after all this time. Riku is still Riku, even if he now towers over both of them (not that he didn't _before_, but…).

Sora would know it – _hey_, he just saw her here, at the (almost) end of the world. Riku also being here would have to be a given.

Kairi does what she thinks will fix this – she makes the three of them just hold hands.

* * *

><p>They will still be in the Islands later, bored off their collective heads. But now, just because…<p>

The three of them will be going around hands linked. That way, they can't be pulled apart again.


	41. Dread

Mulan outright dreaded the matchmaker, her house rising in the middle of the city like a shrine to the less-kindly spirits. And, needless to say, it went just as expected.

There was no way she could dishonor her family further, right?

Mulan would later like to take all thoughts similar to that one back. But it wouldn't do any good now, clad in borrowed armor rather than blushing silks.

And the previous dread? Stage fright, nothing else. If it was actually more than that, well…

Mulan will bury it along with the falling flower petals. I never saw that last little one bloom, did I?

The training is awful, the people are borderline nice when they want to…

And Shang is too perceptive for Mulan's own good. It takes an almighty effort to keep up and keep hidden and she can't keep it up for long enough.

When Mulan very narrowly avoids getting sent back (which could very well mean another recruitment call), she can truly believe things aren't as dreadful as they seem.

Taking that back again. The town is ruined, no trace of the other soldiers, and Shang is looking too much like the place surrounding them. War just got real – it's definitely more than the mock combats and the banter in the troop.

Mulan really wants to say something to bring his spirits up… but she doesn't. It wouldn't be that much in character, after all.

The avalanche razed all in its overpowering wrath. All including 'Ping'…

Mulan is now truly wrought with dread, when the huns decide to resuscitate themselves from their icy tombs and the city is blithely partying and the troops are stationed believing their duty complete.

Well, enough dishonor for Mulan now, but she'll try to keep Shang's as intact as possible. A defeated enemy was promised, and that was what Shang would deliver is Mulan had a say in it.

She didn't think Shang would believe her in the end, with that trio there to back her up as well. Much less that she'd win… that's life, Mulan guesses.

And now, when Shang is presenting himself to her family and grandma won't stop making cracks and bets, Mulan is still dreading that one of the multiple tempers will decide to blow up.

Thankfully, none does so for the time being.


	42. Distance

Kairi had begun to dislike distances since she was barely more than a little girl, and the largest distances she had to walk were to and from school or wherever she was going to meet… that boy… again.

When Kairi fell into Destiny Islands, with barely enough recollections to go by and a lovely story, she thought that distances would be less of a hassle…

But then, it was all about her boys. Her dear adventurous boys, who'd go to the ends of the earth and sweep the entire skies for Kairi's sake if she so wished. And the long road to the sky became annoying, because it would push her smiling friends away into its blue depths.

And there was that ghost distance between them, when Riku became restless about the journey and Sora was just as clueless as ever. Then the dark fell, like Kairi had long ago…

Being distanced from the Islands hurt enough. But being far away (_close, so close_) to Sora would hurt more, even if Kairi was just a heartbeat away.

* * *

><p>Back to the islands, and a boy's face echoing in her head, and Kairi can't focus on his name. But she should be close to this person, despite the distance she knows is between them.<p>

Many, oh so many missives born by a slow sea later, Kairi grumbles at the miles and worlds between them: her and the faded memory of a boy who resonates so close to her heart.

* * *

><p>Needless to say, when liquid darkness surges to take Kairi away into wherever, she outright <em>leaps<em> into it, a determined expression gracing her face.

Sora (oh, how nice it felt braving that mental distance between them…), Sora wanted to fight far from her? Let him _try_:

Those who have lost someone once already don't give in that easily, least of all to some _measly_ miles.

* * *

><p>Back to the future, when she and Sora are draped once more on the gnarled trunk of the paopu tree, and the distance between their hands is just so, so slim…<p>

Kairi still can't believe Sora'd hesitate to link their hands together, after all that had happened. But link them he does, and Kairi can't help but smile at the lack of distance between them.


	43. Stay

There were not enough gimmicks in all worlds to get Jack Skellington out of a fixation. Sally knew so well – a particularly interesting Halloween? She'd barely get to see Jack out of his manor, much less out of a _project_.

Which was why, when this 'Christmas' idea hit him and the omen hit Sally, she knew she was in some deep trouble. But, you see, Jack had to _stay_ here.

And so her creator helped her, if it came to sewing Jack into his chair, Sally would do it with a smile.

Mind you, she still fails at that. But Sally doesn't care as much, when it's both of them on their spiral hill together and just staying there for once.

Maybe her escaping charms had rubbed off on him – and what a good thing it was.

* * *

><p>Now, back to the not-so-distant past, when Jack was still his flighty self, and Sally was…<p>

Just as flighty in her own particular way.

Say, Jack finally got clearance to explore Finklestein's entire lab. And was seeking out his best friend – _shh_ – to give Sally the newest scares and just talk.

Only to find her room empty and the window unlocked.

* * *

><p>Another day, a similar mission…<p>

And there is a shadow clambering down from a window, red hair whipping in the wind, moon shining like a spotlight.

Well, isn't that a _novel_ idea for Halloween, right?

* * *

><p>And when Jack decides to simply break free and deck the halls in red and green and Christmas time, he decides that this time, he's not waiting Sally's 'escape timer' out. Won't it be a nice surprise for her?<p>

He can't understand why the mistress of escape routes wants Jack to stay in just one place. Please, he's the Pumpkin King – and soon to be Christmas something-or-other as well, but… yeah. It can't go wrong, and he'll be back before night's end like always.

_If Sally can pull it off…_

* * *

><p>Re-flash forwards, when the pair of them is back atop the Spiral Hill and together. Many words are thrown across, and they sing like they used to love doing…<p>

And say that this time, they'll _stay_ like that.

* * *

><p>A.N. - now, I'm either obscenely belated with Halloween or too soon with X-mas... sorry! :D Still, thanks for reading, and have a nice day!<p> 


	44. Appearance

Marluxia used to think flowers were a useless power. You have to understand, it came from continuous exposure to those granted the power of flames or water, and who didn't have the wherewithal to use them to their advantage…

It changed after a particular world, whose name he couldn't remember and much less care about.

* * *

><p>Aerith thought Traverse Town would have been more lacking in slums. That was not to be, when most if not all of the so-called districts were barely more dignified than the cutthroat streets she had once considered her home.<p>

And to top it off, there were no churches to grow her flowers in. Aerith would just have to make do with the small allotted spaces for greenery and her ratty garden and watching a man grow stunning flowers from a small patch of grass on what passed for a sidewalk.

Well, Aerith wasn't simply going to let those go to waste, even if they were mostly thorns and vines.

* * *

><p>Marluxia would like to state that heartlessness did nothing to dull surprise. Whoever had fallen into the dark had felt little of it anyways, and Marluxia really couldn't notice the difference.<p>

He was fairly certain that average-looking females didn't simply walk up to an unknown man, least of all to inquire about the flower he was currently trying to manipulate into an effective weapon.

Sometime after speaking to this 'Aerith' person, Marluxia decided decided that controlling the plants is better than he thought…

Surely enough, some things are easier to manage with nice words and a flower or two. And if all else were to fail, roses have thorns.

Even the rose of a long dress and a ribbon – Aerith was proficient with magic, even without a weapon.

Just goes to prove that appearances aren't all.

* * *

><p>Soon enough, Aerith has gotten flowers to bloom in the gloomy districts. There is a wide array, as befits the stock of a soon-to-be flower stall…<p>

She eyes a particular spot with more interest: blood-pink flowers, with slim thorns that the eye can just barely manage to see…

For a while, Aerith remembers calling them 'Marluxia roses'. She stopped once the full impact of the name caught up to her.

* * *

><p>A.N. – 1111/11. I know that this was probably a given for the day… minus the crack pairing, but yeah, that's what the challenge is about, right? And the loosest fit for the prompt here... sorry!

Anyhow, many thanks for reading and see you around!


	45. Book

Belle had probably read all the books in the library. Twice, thrice or more, if someone cared for exactitude – and really wanted to understand the depths of Belle's boredom…

Because the library was definitely large enough to accommodate a city, and well-populated by long, text-crammed books.

The pros and cons of captivity are many.

* * *

><p>Despite his age – whichever <em>that<em> is – Zexion had also spent vast quantities of time sunken into encyclopedias, written research and general non-fiction.

And, the previous statement notwithstanding, Zexion's world wasn't a particularly rich world of literature – or anything else for that matter.

Which is what brought him to a castle of a world, with no visible inhabitants save for a dulcet voice echoing across the halls.

But he duly notes how it quiets down on entering the quaint library and rummage about for texts.

* * *

><p>This world is a rare find – while there is an astounding amount of fiction, the more substantial fare of information is quite interesting.<p>

And recurrent library patron Belle – yes, the same sing-song voice from before – isn't as vapid as she'd seem to an invisible observer.

Her tastes in literature leave something to be desired (as if Zexion could), though.

Which is why, with a frown and a neatly-written note, Zexion places a short science-oriented research where he think Belle will find it. After all, it's not like new eyes ever hurt a project too much.

* * *

><p>Belle isn't sure about the books having the level of sentience that some of the other items around the castle have.<p>

But they have a sense of humor, or something alike. And Belle didn't remember seeing _some_ of the less whimsical books lying in wait here…

They are still a good read.

On some unknown prompt, Belle left one of her preferred novels somewhere else, somewhere visible.

* * *

><p>Zexion got to see new notes decorating the book he had brought along some time ago and the 'offering' of a fairy tale for those with hearts…<p>

He'll deny ever reading it or taking it out of the library even.

* * *

><p>Belle notices the books have fallen still again when there are no new informative companions visiting; when the small notes she leaves lying in between the pages still rest unchanged.<p>

Out of routine, she reads those forgotten books again, omitting the small name of a non-existent person who once owned it.


	46. Water

Captain Jack Sparrow – first word there important, and don't forget it – was tired of water. All of the time at sea atop the fearsome Black Pearl surrounded by a backstabbing troop of trusted pirates, and not a drop of good drinks on board.

It was a despicable situation.

And now, back at backwater Tortuga where the air exuded cheap drinks and easy pickings, Captain Jack Sparrow was going to make an excellent use of the newly-liberated loot.

He strode into a bar, to walk out when one of the (not many) patrons was bedecked in the Royal Navy's uniform.

There were better places to drink anyway.

* * *

><p>Larxene was similarly bored of the common water: some poor non-idiot will soon find out the joys of small electric jolts. And the rest will find out why was it a bad idea to hide andor drink Larxene's beverages.

Long story made short, Larxene was now going to wreak havoc in Luxord's theme-park haunt. She walked into a random bar…

To be almost chased out by some imbeciles decked out in ridiculous scarlet outfits. Almost, because she made a point of shooting off knives into the charging crowd and zapping the weapons with a current. A slow clap from a dreadlock-wearing man made her spin.

"Where did you keep those, mila-"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out. With pleasure, I'll show the trick again-"

"Away from me, thanks."

"Good boy."

"Captain Jack Sparrow, not boy. Boy means those lightweights in red."

"Boy means whoever I want to, Sparrow."

"Captain Sparrow, if you must. Now, I retire to my drink-"

"Empty bottle."

"Well, not my first. To the bar!"

"Now, will you not escort a lady?"

"Only if said lady will later escort me" – twin grins and knives blooming across Larxene's hands – "I mean, accompany me with some drinks."

* * *

><p>After being kicked out of their third consecutive establishment, rum bottles still in hands, Captain Jack Sparrow half-stumbled towards the Pearl, a giggling bug-haired blonde hanging on him-<p>

A mighty shove into the thrice damned water, and the girl wasn't that drunk at all.

Well, he'll be. On sight, 'Larxene' is to be captured and thrown overboard… after the knife-and-rum trick is shown again.

For now, out of the water it is.


	47. Memories

Maleficent would have preferred to take a daughter under her wing-like cape. A little girl to pamper, train in the arcane arts…

Someone who she could teach to walk along her in the darkness with the same lack of fear. Aurora was originally that it: never mind the brilliance in her heart or the obnoxiously loyal and… well, innovative Phillip. Or the blue-haired maiden and her cohorts; though Maleficent had to say Terra had been nice to meet.

Instead, after all her toiling and troubles, Maleficent got a wayward boy with silver hair and a sleeping girl on tow.

_The memories, the memories_… teaching him the Sleep spell was an interesting experience. Same as trying Riku out with the dark.

Riku would be her nice little pawn, to pamper and 'care' in her own way.

* * *

><p>Maleficent will, at times, do some acts of partial good.<p>

She remembers calming Riku down – "Don't worry, both your friends will be _alright_-

"Yes, you are _so much better_ than that Sora boy… you've been through the darkness, haven't you? Bent it to your will?-

"Of course, I so _swear_ Kairi will be all right…"

Maleficent can't imagine keeping them for long… but she'll _try_ to. Godmothers have to keep their charges well, don't they? She's only using the dark to get there, that's all.

Maleficent hasn't seen a quite genuine expression in a long time. Riku's smile when she shows him that small glimpse of that girl…

She makes a point of storing it in her memories – it can chase the darkness off someday.

* * *

><p>Ah, to <em>hell<em> with that.

So, good bad boy Riku has finally learnt how powerful the dark can be. Decided to share around even – Maleficent roars up in almost dementia-induced glee and pride.

Well, picking up the little lost boy had been a great plan, hadn't it?

The great dragon took to the fight once again.

* * *

><p>Back to the drawing board though – Riku's friends did pull through, as they said they would…<p>

But well, this went along much better than expected. Maleficent might just have to try it another time.

Next time, she'll make sure it works _just perfect_.


	48. Gift

There wasn't that much else to do, Xion realized. Her days were, in a way as convoluted as her existence, numbered.

And Xion couldn't take much more of it, not with-

_Axel just looking over Twilight Town with a melancholy-smile and the bar of ice-cream crying sea-salt tears on the far-off pavement-_

_Axel being the first thing she sees when she wakes up from a memory and his hokey speak dying on his lips as he tries to turn on that radiant smile-_

Axel _this_ and Axel _that_ and just not being able to deal with the fact that, even more than Roxas, he's been her best friend.

Now, what was that thing that she'd picked up from other worlds, to say goodbye? _Gift_, Xion thinks it's called.

* * *

><p>She tries buying off one of the large sea-salt ice-cream boxes, and keeping it in her close-to-sub-zero room. Xion has to walk around with sticky boots for a while, but she doesn't mind that much.<p>

She tries surprising Axel, but all she gets is an apologetic look as he spins around a second too early or when he guesses 'who's it' too fast.

Xion even tries leaving one of those card things or two in his room, then realizes that she doesn't know which one it is and she frankly doesn't want someone else to find her version of a goodbye to Axel.

* * *

><p>Well, she probably wouldn't manage to give him a gift anyways…<p>

Xion still tries, letting him sleep late just one day and covering up to Saïx, then running to be the first one to say hello-

A meeting of their faces - too close to one another, and it's _odd_ that the visible diamond on Axel's face don't flush red as the rest of his face does.

Axel lifts his arms, not-even-really trying to separate them, but Xion chooses to bury herself a bit deeper into his silent chest.

* * *

><p>It is now good-bye, and Xion is taking her final leave of the Castle, friends nowhere to be seen-<p>

A blur of red and black, pressing her to his lean torso and almost-whispering 'don't leave' like the mad mantra it is.

From afar, Riku just watches it – a final farewell, and the 'gift' of knowing that your friend really did care, even if everything equaled zero.

He promises the other figure – not him, but his _intention_ – that Xion won't leave in vain.

A final gift to the marionette.


	49. Leap

Pooh had ran out of hunny for… was it the umpteenth time, or the ump-zillionth?

Point was a certain yellow Pooh-bear was stumbling around some odd acres or so of the lazy woods, empty pot in nose and another clutched precariously in both paws. Through the blue ceramic and the stubborn last drops of hunny, a muffled line of 'oh dear's echoed and rumbled forth in an echo of the bear's stuffed-fluffy abdomen…

Until with a leap and a bound and another dynamic entry interrupted the 'cute' complaints.

"Hallo Tigger… I think the hunny ran out, and my tummy-"

"Worry no more!"

The feline spun around in typical hyper fashion before leaping between the soft golden tree-limbs and send a leaf-rain down on a stunned Pooh as always…

Before returning back down, wearing what passed for a sheepish look on his face.

"Now, you wouldn't remember where the bees were last time?"

Pooh poked his tummy, as if its rounded presence knew where more sustenance could be found, then followed with some pensive taps to the side of his head.

"I don't know… tummy rumbles all the thoughts away…"

* * *

><p>They ended up crashing in their usual meeting place.<p>

Loosely translated, it meant Eeyore's house required another fix; Roo and Tigger had another of their leaping contests (which the feline won as expected, though it didn't stop the pair of them from a burst of giggling at the end), Tigger got stuck in a couple of trees…

And Pooh had to be shoved out of the entrance to Rabbit's home again, a couple of now-refilled hunny pots clattering down with the bear's fluffy mass.

Rabbit didn't understand much the antics of that pair – why, Pooh was even a calm 'person' if somewhat absent most of the time… and Tigger's friendliness spoke volumes about him, even if he always in some kind of hype.

At least, it was currently aimed towards helping their more distracted companion.

Well, a thing to ponder at another date. Now, on to more pressing issues:

"Tigger!"

The barely-rebuilt foundations of Eeyore's dingy lean-to shuddered with the sheer volume of Rabbit's annoyed call.

"Now, please don't fall down again…"


	50. Smile

Olette tended to not notice many things. How the summer vacation seemed to drag on forever but ended in a week. Or that her best friends had trouble saying or even thinking of-

-there it goes again, those lapses in unconsciousness. Olette knows that they're there, but chalks them up to the incoming school fatigue and the lazy twilight casting sleep on their minds.

But, despite these annoying shortcomings, Olette is quite swift to realize that Roxas is… well, he is as always, with that heavy look in his blue eyes as if a nightmare hounded him and the blank blinks in the day take a special toll on him.

She wants to go around and help him out a bit – maybe she'll pay off their ice-creams today, or stay extra-time cheering him on with the Struggle practice bouts. But Olette doesn't indulge and simply go around worrying over him.

Because there is that sad-sweet smile in Roxas's face when the things go just as planned and everything is its normal way. The smile of eating another ice-cream while perched precariously on the clock tower and glimpsing the sun through those small marbles they won.

Olette just smiles at him, speaks like normal and just cheers the loudest and with the most radiant smile she manages.

* * *

><p>Roxas can, at times even when… here, in this odd void…<p>

Roxas can remember snippets of smiles and grins and the earthy quality of a brown-haired girl he's fairly sure he never met. The wild cheers and the way she swung around, long tresses fluttering. The snips and snaps of more smiles next to hers – between her and the ghost-girl he knows, those dominate the still pictures interlaced with those of his un-life previous.

Roxas wants to remember that smiling girl's name, to remember why the sight of oddly arranged brown hair and lively green eyes can be warm and mingled with the taste of sea-salt.

* * *

><p>Olette now can't remember much about why was she so worried a short while ago, or even now. Much less why she bought off an extra ice-cream-<p>

_Blue eyes and a sad smile, with her wrapping an arm around a spirit's frame-_

Well, it doesn't matter too much now.


	51. Heart

Saïx was paused before the serene glow of the heart-shaped moon, golden eyes mirroring the radiance.

_Mirroring_, not catching and keeping and making his own. Just glancing with the same indifference at the amalgam of light and darkness. Darkness, he had to give away, not that anyone would want such a present; light however, was in high demand. Stretching a gloved hand, making as if to capture and run his fingers along the curved rock, Saïx 'caught' Kingdom Hearts, a weightless image.

* * *

><p>Kairi wouldn't have ever imagined her captor could be this… calm. No, <em>Saïx<em> – or Seven, as he goes by at times – is permanently in what looks like distaste and tranquility.

He can't _manage_ anything else, not joy or sorrow, remorse or relief. Cold indifference and that apparent obsession with the glaring moon; that, Kairi knows, is the extension of his feigned emotions.

She tries to break free; he stares at her through the bars. No scowl, no grin and much less words…

But Saïx did try and pretend, maybe a time or two:

When who she knows as Nine ran wailing through the dungeons, unaware that he was no longer in whichever world they were destroying .

When Saïx smiles at a plan gone wrong or a plan gone right – Kairi can't tell, and doesn't want to.

When she just shouted her voice rasp shooting barrage after barrage of words that didn't matter, and the blue-haired man looked like he had remembered some far-off dream.

When Kairi, for once, looks genuinely scared. And when, by his side (though unwittingly), she stops being so afraid.

The last couple, she knows will stick, same as the absent expression on his face when the reflection on one of the black-glass windows had the heart-shaped moon beaming on his chest, a pin for what is no longer there. Or when he tries passing the heart-reflection from his hand to hers, thinking that maybe, he'll get his light that way.

She can't say whether it actually worked, or even truly happened.

* * *

><p>Kairi is running away – no, not running, <em>advancing<em> – and her captor is there, looking to the entire world like he'll defend the heart in the sky with all his might. Kairi knows what she is – an obstruction, an enemy…

And the one with a heart here. A real one, not like the moon hanging in the sky which Saïx has taken as his own.

She takes a battle stance, aiming at his chest. And when he looks, vaguely startled and mostly but not quite there enraged…

Kairi knows that even placebo hearts can pretend to work the same at times like these.


	52. Trust

"_What's your name?"_

It had to start like that. Simple, absurd questions – no trust required or anything. And it really wasn't the beginning – that actually was Sora making a fool of himself with the ridiculous amount of noise he was making.

I'm thinking he might actually be one himself.

You see, I am not in the habit of just… speaking. Or connecting to people and all that.

"_I'm Neku. Sakuraba Neku."_

"_Neku Sakuraba? That's an interesting name!"_

It goes just like before from here on in – Shiki's hype and trust issues and radiant smiles and friendship and general annoyance.

After all of that happened, I can't let this Sora down. Or know anything about the others – Joshua and Rhyme and Beat and this game.

I wonder what his fee was. But, if I'm not trusting him right now with my own stories, Sora can go keep his own.

Not like I particularly care.

But Shiki would have a field day with those clothes.

* * *

><p>Huh – figures Sora would try to befriend me.<p>

It also figures I'd have all of their voices – my friends' voices – _nagging_ me. "Trust people. Trust your partner."

Well, my partner he is. A good one at that…

I'll give this Sora a chance. If nothing else, he deserves it.

* * *

><p>Sora thinks that this is like finding Riku all over again. But in Technicolor and with those headphones and the pins rather than darkness and bruised self-esteem.<p>

Neku is as quiet, as aloof, as his best friend once was. With the same odd 'stare into the distance' quirks; although, this being Neku, it means a mind read instead of some haunting memory.

Sora's specialty is not to the keyblade alone – earning trust and friendship is his strong suit as well, not to mention something he simply loves doing.

And it works, even if it isn't total and Sora thinks Neku could revert.

But _hey_, they're friends now. That's for sure.

* * *

><p>Shiki is confused about Neku's attitude changing again.<p>

There is now that teensy, minuscule, so.-very-nearly imperceptible additional mote of trust. A bit of a smile. Letting her ask 'what is he listening now'. Speaking to Beat and Rhyme, biting bat a remark or two of the cutting kind.

And looking at the sky so much now.

_Well, whatever it is…_

_Thanks a lot._


	53. Risk

There were high-risk missions. Then, there were those borderline suicidal missions, in which it was always either a shade below or a whisper above – but Xion still had to pull stubbornly through.

Then, there were _those_ missions of such _risk_; missions that were meant to be taken in a hero-like fashion, upping the ante, flipping on sunglasses and chewing bubblegum…

Or so Xion had been told, even if she didn't understand half of the terms on that small list. But, well, she hoped bars of sea-salt ice-cream would count as an acceptable substitute. Axel's expression, far from the usual deadpan or joking smile…

Well, Xion was in this now.

"This round of poker begins _now_."

* * *

><p>Luxord enjoyed playing against rookies. They had Lady Luck's favor and the fast-forgotten grace of someone who doesn't know what is she doing, with her fluctuating looks and shaky hold on the stakes.<p>

But Xion was a risk-taker – a pile of ice-cream had already been laid out on the table amidst the small currency stacks and sundry materials. And really, the sidelines were getting to be amusing – more bets hedged on the winner or the severity of Xion's (always her) loss.

Ah, he'll be a _gentleman_ today. Luxord refrained from just leaving Xion-

Yes, she won the round. Amazingly, with a rare hand and wide eyes glaring holes into the small red hearts cloistered in her cards.

He helps her taking her winnings somewhere safe, away from laughs and weary sighs of relief. And Luxord doesn't understand why he is being thanked by the petite female.

He still nods, and wishes Xion a continued streak of luck. Maybe Lady Luck will leave her fickle ways for a while, and grant the puppet – _he knows, and he knows she doesn't_ – a longer streak of life.

* * *

><p>Luxord isn't that awed the time Xion asks for a rematch, a lazy day with a friend sleeping his spikes off and the other bound who-knows-where. She is still the same risk-taker, with the same lack of expression, and time hasn't gone by from that day.<p>

Really it has, and Xion has taken her risks. All Luxord can do is try to gamble in her favor and win her a streak of luck…

But luck is an iffy thing, isn't it?


	54. Caring

Xion didn't quite know why this odd person – Zack, she thinks he was named – keeps looking at her with a smile on his face. Or why he ever so nicely stretched out a hand, maybe to lead her to the games.

And certainly, when Xion had never seen him before at all, she didn't understand why he wanted a rematch. Or why his eyes kept glazing over, like it was someone else he was speaking to…

She had been getting that a lot lately. And, once again, she can't help but snap when he gets her name wrong – Xion didn't quite catch what it was, but the look on Zack's face afterwards is priceless.

A bigger smile, something that sounds like 'That's my girl', and him doing some odd squats before blushing and running into the Colisseum.

She remembers winning those rounds to the sound of Zack's wild cheering, with added emphasis on 'Xion'. She remembers the way he cared to get her name just right.

* * *

><p>Xion kept coming back to that world, hiding the portals well away from 'big brother Zack' – she knows he doesn't like the darkness too much, and funnily enough she found herself caring for how he felt.<p>

If Zack cares enough to keep showing up to her matches and waving cheers from the stands, Xion'll take enough care with her portals…

She thinks that Axel and Roxas – her other two 'brothers' of sorts – would find this funny.

* * *

><p>Well, now she is on her goodbye tour, and she can't skip this farewell. Zack is sitting down there by the stands, black hair falling on his face and blue eyes shut. A bout of laughter, and he is awake again, apologizing for falling asleep (or simply shooting off barrage after barrage of 'oh man's at inane volumes and doing squats at hyper-speeds).<p>

There was a smile on his face, which fell by the time Xion had finished her 'speech'. A hug, something that sounded like _'I'll miss you'_ and strings of _'little sister'_s wrapping themselves around her…

She knows that, despite all this, he'll forget her as well.

Xion doesn't know that, for him, she _never_ changed – always the black-haired, blue-eyed girl…

Although, he was fairly sure he had met someone in such a strange suit of armor before. But he wouldn't ever let her hear that. He really cared too much for her… like a hero ought to do, he hoped.


	55. Fear

There was this thing about fear, Demyx realized, that was utterly enthralling. Obviously only to a void-being like himself, who could only exist in nothing and darkness – anyone truly living wouldn't find that cloying fear appealing.

But a musician with no heart did – Demyx drowned out the rush of the world-sea with the soft plinking of a blindingly blue sitar, not particularly caring for the encroaching shadows making their way to him.

Or the blue-haired girl – a spot of milder color and a saddened smile – cart-wheeling into action, all flame and life and courage. Demyx stuttered over the melody, caught up in the fear and phantom desires of just running away…

But a dead man can choose to, just this one time, face his fears. Demyx just won't, when said fear is the key-like blade poised in her hand. He escapes into the darkness, disregarding the maiden's calls.

But that was a good way to play at emotions – no, he always had them – again.

* * *

><p>Aqua wants to understand why that boy with fears and music keeps escaping from her. If he'd seen her before, he'd know better than to run. And a keyblade was pretty much shorthand for a nice person… once upon a time, insofar as Aqua remembered.<p>

No, and now as well – she'd caught enough glimpses of the boys of the future-now, and knew that her mental stereotype still matched up quite nicely…

And that it was like her two boys all over again. Three, if Aqua manages to catch fear-boy, music-boy.

Aqua thinks that she could help him as well.

She does it, this one time, when she snuck back down to her particular shore to find a shadow perched plucking sounds out of the sole spark of blue Aqua can see.

Aqua catches shadow-boy, weaponless and all; Aqua scares shadow-boy into muttering smiles and series of nonsensical apologies and long trilling speeches.

* * *

><p>Demyx's story takes time to narrate, and Aqua feels like she still didn't get it all…<p>

And despite Demyx's void nature, she had seen it once before. With her best friends to boot…

Aqua believes that maybe, just maybe, she can bail Demyx out of his fears and out of this dark sea shore. They have both shared the same fear, at times – even if for him it was just make-believe panic:

They had both feared losing it all, once. They had both seen all collapse once.

They both had all and nothing to fear now – and water could be torrential as well as calm.


	56. Storm

Xion has never been in a proper storm, although she does find the pouring rain familiar. The boom of the thunder is also personal, even if in a watered-down way, and Xion isn't entirely sure that whoever she used to be was afraid of thunder.

Or it might just be her, because she did get the message from a fuming Larxene and a pretend-temper that suits the current weather quite well. It might, if she could feel, but it's probably not true.

Maybe it's just something common to everyone. She can say everyone- she's in Twilight Town, where people are people- and she's fairly certain it is a widespread sentiment. No-one is out on the sopping streets and if she squints, she can make out people cowering a bit behind the curtains when lightning strikes.

And the dog at her side also shies a bit, or barks quite loudly in response at a far-off roll of thunder. Wags its tail when the white-noise silence of rain reigns again, and Xion would find it quite funny if she didn't jump every now and then too. At least she has someone to keep her company.

For a moment, she considers bringing the large yellowy dog along with her for some ice-cream. He's even helped her a bit with the mission, barking at the Heartless as well and even swiping at a couple. Tackled one of the big rounded ones even, and managed to bring it down (ending up as a tangle of dog in the process, but she's ended up as a tangle of girl too after a couple of battles). Then she finds the stall closed, and it's not like she'll be able to sit atop the clock tower, wet as it is.

So she leads the dog off to the side of the tall tower, where there's still some cover from the storm, and offers a potion. It's what she has, and anyways the mission is over. She can buy off another one from the Moogle when she gets there.

The dog barks loudly, wagging its tail and putting its paws on Xion's shoulders. They're cold, and the fur is matted, but she doesn't entirely dislike it. She does think that the long, quick lick she receives is weird though- and manages to communicate it well enough to…

Pluto, the very small nametag on the shiny green collar reads.

She says thanks too, before rushing off to the portal, Pluto at her heels.


	57. Deep

Xion would've liked to say she _really_ didn't have any memories prior to her friends and the boy in red. Xion would have preferred the shock of blanks in her mind instead of the events buried deep.

Those just brought to mind bleak walls and dusty basements which she had tried to light up using half-there powers. Her old memories of a castle with no name and a hovering of black cloaks…

And _him_, even though Xion rarely caught his name. It sounded vaguely like a number – _six_ or something, and slightly like her name-to-be. A sigh tagged in front, almost like the ones he emits every so often before insinuating flaws in procedure or something she can't understand.

Xion remembers practicing, weaponless, with a young person wielding a tome. His fingers molding hers, teaching her to fire spells and dance into battle stances. Or the time he wove blades from air, mimicking fights and giving off the illusion of skill – Xion remembers him telling her that it was all _in theory _and, _well, you'll see how you prefer to battle._

He left just enough of himself in Xion's mind to guarantee her proficiency with magic. And to leave a scratch in her memories, a veil of blue-grey and tricks of the shadows. A first time of a hand holding her own, or the boring hours spent poring over data and plans.

Xion remembers most off all being stuck deep somewhere, then burying her old memories along with the deserted basements.

* * *

><p>Xion remembers learning his name – which was close to how she had imagined it – yet still referring to him as 'Six'. Pretend-old habits die hard…<p>

But the boy with blue hair and a book didn't.

Xion, oddly enough, can't seem to fully chase him out of her recollections: there he will be, perched somewhere while she is eating ice-cream; pointing slim fingers at details in recon missions and taking the time to call her 'Xion' every single time, even when she learns her name well enough or he can't speak to her anymore.

* * *

><p>Naminé doesn't know what to do with Xion's own memories – the endless twilights high on a tower, her world-escapes…<p>

The small time she spent in Oblivion at the _beginning_, with someone Naminé never knew too well, and never cared too much about.

But oddly enough, maybe Xion did – at least, she cared enough to remember _him_ briefly by.

Naminé just traces an eraser over the pair of dark-haired, blue-eyed smiles, waving the last trace of their lives away.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> - if this pairing (you can probably guess at which one it is) has a 'name', it sure beats me. Anyways, thanks for reading, and reviews would be much appreciated :) And you can also probably see that I forgot I had already written this fic's original prompt already, and had to edit it a little... still, mostly tangential to the prompt itself, but I like the idea too much...

See you around!


	58. Magic

Waking up normally doesn't qualify as magic. By any stretch of logic, Even is willing to bet, except this one.

The floor of a lab. When his last sight was twilight-combed forest and the crackling of fire. And, Even knows, he hadn't exactly fallen asleep back then.

But here he was, now fully awake and of all things, on a messy bed. To be accurate, hastily made up, with whatever was available- one of the sheets is an old spare curtain, and the 'pillow' seems to be a clean lab coat bundled up, but it's passable. And he's in the old quarters in Radiant Garden, unlikely as it is, staring at a door half wood and half broken glass. Floor is swept, and Dilan dozes off on another bedding of similar quality.

That clues him in before steps sound along somewhere beyond the door. Before whomever it was- Ienzo, if Even was to guess- does a double take and speeds away. Returns speaking fast (he taught him better) and drops down to a seat besides wherever. With a tray bearing tea, of all things, and some sort of pastry.

He's still speaking, words blurred off behind the fact that Even is just waking up. No, he's processing all of the information, limited as it is, because he isn't just groggy from an extended and deep…

Even leaves it as 'slumber', and makes a dismissive wave at his apprentice. Who doesn't see the command- Even will cut his long bangs for this, so soon as he decides that getting out of the decidedly comfortable bed- and just continues on with his monologue.

It's information; he decides when he manages to latch on to an idea. And juvenile worry- "well, you followed the theory stating that we'd be recompleted back in our home world, yet you were in an unstable condition and-"

He stretches out a hand, seizes the cup of not-so-hot liquid and takes a sip. Another one, slightly longer because it tastes odd.

"Ienzo, what did you add to this?"

He looks sheepish for a moment, and Even finds it interesting that after so long, he's seeing the younger apprentice emote. Or at least sincerely and with a lack of poise- he's sure to think more of the phenomena later, but for now…

"Sugar."

"… you used to have more culinary skills, if I remember well."

He doesn't exactly laugh- that is still too foreign for either of them, so they gloss over it, feeling (isn't it interesting) like mild jokes and familiarity.

And, if Even dropped for a moment his scientific logic- just because he's still hazy after the too-sweet beverage- he'd say that this is actual magic.

But it's waking up, after all.

* * *

><p>A.N. – yeah, I know this one has a 'repeat' further on that I'm not changing… but hey, I moved it forwards on the timeline, so it still is kinda different… :P<p>

By the way, I haven't annoyed you too much with the changes, right? I guess it would be odd to see a 'completed' thing updating again because the author is a noob-queen…

Thanks for reading!


	59. Light

There was this determinedly annoying thing about light: it _burns_. Not in the literal sense though; light had this way to sear at you with its expanse, a presence and the warm glow reflecting off a metallic surface.

Which is why the room, bare save for a suit of armor sleeping on the floor and its weapon close to hand, had a burning glimmer to it. Xemnas didn't appreciate it much – even when it was really imperceptible and the silver-blue armor felt chill and hollow beyond his gloved touch. But light had this way to do things to him:

Xemnas would speak to her. Why he thought of the suit as a _she_, well… Xemnas didn't quite know. But the light that echoed on from beyond the empty helm _did_, and tried to coalesce into the blue locks that _not-Xemnas_ knew so well and light-bloom eyes and-

Xemnas kept speaking on to his prone friend. He didn't remember, but a part of him – _a part of a part_ – knew her so well. Knew that the suit of armor was once capable of fights and dances and weaving light.

Xemnas just knew that whoever this precious ghost had been, she could wield a Keyblade. And Xemnas frankly cared only for _that_ – he'd get his goal quicker; everything would be drowned in _nothing_ at all and eternity stretching on into an alleged future…

Thing was, light _could_ travel through the absolute void. Maybe not through a memory-void, but Xemnas cared little for such measly things: without a heart to cherish those memories, phantom-fantasies could simply not amount to anything at all.

And in his mind, it was zipping white light beams, disregarding the barriers around his thoughts and pouring out half-meant words like water. And a brown-haired – _it wasn't him, never him_ – longed to trace a hand along the faint light echoing off the metal, to really say something to a friend…

Xemnas never let him. Light was not really his to use… not that he hadn't tried. But nothing could influence light.

He leaves the room calling her _'my friend'_, he thinks. And Xemnas _might_ have called her something else…

But he won't tell anyone but the sleeping armor.


	60. Pain

Terra was no stranger to pain. Side effect of practice, and armor and spells could dull all physical aches…

But this hurt on a level that was simply beyond him, beyond even reactions or speech. Terra just kept pained eyes (he wasn't supposed to show it, wasn't supposed to feel it) glued to Eraqus, watching his fa-

Teacher, mentor, _not_ father. Because fathers weren't meant to cause this amount of pain, or simply shake his head at a little darkness. Which wasn't me, I swear, trust me…

* * *

><p>It's this pain that guides him, through the worlds and all. Terra has to set things right, to <em>vanquish <em>the darkness…

No, to _harness_ it, because failing at using the light Eraqus so loved hurts as well, and dark has this trick of staining all in clingy tar. Terra honestly doesn't know what brought him here and now, when a young man lost an eye and there is that darkness-pain and physical pain and Terra snaps in and out of it like a psychotic dance of minds.

Memories cluttering down hurt, forget the lost heart and the ripped sight-

What hurts is the phantom shake of a teacher's head, sighing disapproval. Terra tries to blanch it out, but he really can't. Or _won't_, for accuracy.

* * *

><p>Now, he's back home and the darkness holds him close in anesthetic and memory-pain, but it's Eraqus's sight that sets it in.<p>

Terra barely _felt_ that fight – no, it _never_ meant an absence of pain…

It meant that, as the body outright faded -_and it wasn't supposed to happen, how __could__ it_- the hurt just collapsed in itself, and Terra curses the rage and sadness welling up and joining the capering dark.

* * *

><p>It <em>ends<em>, and a silver-haired man strides smoothly away from a crumpled suit of armor-

Chains. Chains upon chains of memories, and losing didn't matter, neither did pain or payback.

This was to make that far off hurt recede, to see one last nod from a distant past. The chains just flow with golden light, and a _lingering will_ knows, just _knows_:

This pain ends_ now_.


	61. Scent

Zexion had always been highly reliant on his senses. A bit more focused on scents, but that came with his own hampering of his eyesight – but Ienzo had worn his hair like so long ago, and Zexion didn't want to leave that identity _completely_ behind.

But an issue for another life. Now, Zexion was just trailing a sweeter scent around a neon-lit ruin of a world, a sprawling city swamped in aromas of varying quality. And the tang of flowers, which was his current path.

Flowers usually meant that their caretaker's heart was nearby, and those were easy to reel in.

* * *

><p>Aerith was, as usual, tending to her children. They were just flowers, but it sounded better that way. The batch today was blue, deep as the ocean and with the shimmer that was behind that boy's eyes.<p>

_Wait._ A boy is here, watching her. No, not watching, his eyes (or the visible one at least) are closed, head tilted slightly upwards and clad in a cloak too warm for the weather. But here he is-

"Hello?"

It is her speaking, and she makes it a question. Depending on the answer, her response. Aerith has had enough of thieves this time around, but if he's on the run from the Heartless, she'll let him stay.

* * *

><p>She – Aerith – is a <em>toy<em>. Zexion works slowly, but there'll be no alarm sounded over her disappearance.

No, there _will_. Because that black-haired boy isn't taking it nicely that Zexion is trying to charm her away and into the dark, but neither of them _knows_ it yet. And Zexion doesn't mind the charms she tries to work on him…

He still buys a flower or two at times, purely for the aroma.

* * *

><p>Zexion is here again, watching the flowers. No, his eyes are closed <em>again<em> – he is only smelling them, concentrated in the fragrance. Yet he does greet her, _as usual_, even with his eyes shut.

It's the first time he's said goodbye to Aerith and she feels _sad _and like something evil has been narrowly avoided.

* * *

><p>Zexion bristles, pacing the immaculate halls up and down, trailing behind a phantom scent. Flowers linger in the air, and he wants them taken down – they remind Zexion too much of the half-failed mission in Traverse Town and Aerith's easy smile…<p>

It improves when he fades back into the basement, with no color to bring back the scent.


	62. Angel

Quasimodo grew up around angels, their stony eyes brimming with painted pain and melancholy. Stained windows glimmered with heavenly envoys, and the walls of Notre Dame played roost for many more of the younger stone-souls who delighted in observing the outer life.

Quasimodo spoke to them, and they usually didn't answer back. Maybe Laverne, Victor and Hugo did for them; maybe it was just a poignant stare. Mostly the stares – at him, at the door, out of a window, to the great bells. One of them, an elderly-looking one with a long beard, answered with a whistle-wind from the masonry and a longing look at the gypsy faire.

Angels probably weren't supposed to look at pagan celebrations with longing, but this elderly angel with an unremembered name certainly did, Quasimodo thought. But really, he was only looking at one of his own.

A woman in gypsy garb, spinning and laughing like bell-song in a pavilion of silks. Or what looked like silks from afar, and even from up close carried over the crowd. An angel of laughter and dance, a spirit of revelry and not-quite-acceptance.

She laughs along for a bit with the crowds, Quasimodo knows. But an angel she is, and angels are kindly and deliver – usually, and probably only to normal folk-

She stops, and the bronze of her skin is the sunlight on the swords of heaven's soldiers and her voice holy thunder. This angel – later Esmeralda – is his first defender, the guardian he thinks is sent from him.

Heaven's light brought down as an ever-free woman. It's both better and worse than Quasimodo hopes – he's locked atop the cathedral with metal bells and loneliness, but now there's a memory there, of a dance and a moment with people.

The carving doesn't ever do her justice, still as it is. He's given it movements, the ripple of her dress and a smile. Green eyes peeking from curls of stain-black hair.

Quasimodo places it along with the stone angels, the miniature with the giants.

In the filtering light of twilight, with the quiet smiles and peaceful looks of the others, 'Esmeralda' seems to have her wings.


	63. Passion

Axel was accustomed to fiery girls. Larxene for one, though _boy was he glad_ at times to not see her anymore. He was sure there had been at least one other, but she now evaded her mind with that same determination she might just once have shown.

But not fiery_ princesses_. Didn't that go against the stereotype, prototype and whatever-it-is-type? Then again, the lesser redhead staring at Axel on the beach was no common princess, so he guessed she could afford this passion in her.

_Can't fight fire with little brave sparks though_, Axel mulls over. And he _is_ fire, even if maybe insubstantial and beyond true existence, while she is mighty shimmering sparks. There is this trick to her, this light which will keep him at bay as soon as he so much as glances over lines which she thinks are there.

* * *

><p>Kairi has grown around people defined by passion. Tidus, Wakka, Selphie, Riku… that boy…<p>

Okay, maybe not in the traditional sense. It was more of a super friendship and interest treading along obsession at times; about building castles in every sky and setting off towards them.

This man, a burst of red and black in her serene islands, is also passion – but that passion that is more of a trained fanaticism, rather than a true feeling.

She can't trust him – _never at all_, but…

Kairi's friends are out there, and if she can help, she _will_ – and so help those who would keep them away. Kairi doesn't simply lose twice.

* * *

><p>Axel doesn't get too much time with their captive. Comes with the job, he assumes, and after Oblivion it isn't like his boss wants to leave him another wrench to toss in their plans.<p>

But he has heard her, Kairi, calling out and very nearly running out by sheer force of will. Maybe the noise will lure her key close, maybe she'll just bail herself out.

But – and here Axel won't really admit or deny – she has left another mark on him (seriously, what was the count now…). Those rushed talks when Kairi sees him, about her friends – Axel regrets telling her he knew Sora, but lying has always been his forte. The way Kairi'll smile when the lie is delivered, or how she gets that drifting look on her eyes when someone kind is approaching.

It isn't like him to get attached anymore.

But Axel makes a point, when the flames rise high, to ask to be forgiven. From beyond the grave, to be sure…

Though, she wanted her key back didn't she? And Axel always did like going above and beyond his call of duty…


	64. Apples

While the books that promoted the giving of apples to a teacher were far under Ienzo's level, the young boy still made a point of offering one to Even. One a day, like clockwork, and always before commencing that day's research.

Even rarely noticed, which didn't exactly sit well with the smaller apprentice – don't tell the elder that he was one as well. Still, the apples kept being left on the corner of the desk – always by the same little blue-gray haired boy in the oversized lab coat with no voice.

* * *

><p>It actually was noticed, and always written down in a notebook kept close at hand. Ienzo was probably affected by some psychological aftershock, and there might be trauma, how did this affect the heart-<p>

Even did eat the apple afterwards, when all the hypothesis were hastily scribbled down in seemingly illegible script and Ienzo had left to… wherever it was he went after the lessons.

So, contrary to Ienzo's thoughts and very much to his silent surprise, Even _did_ care when for a couple of days in a row there was no crimson fruit lying in wait at its allocated corner. But it will be there, later on in the day – there will be some flowers there as well, but Even doesn't know that it was due to someone else's suggestion and for those he doesn't really care. It is too superfluous for an academic like him.

* * *

><p>It goes on like that for a while afterwards, while the experiments climb and climb in difficulty and the breakthrough is barely a thought away…<p>

Vexen – _not_ Even – is the one who walks back to his room, picking up the papers to figure out what went wrong and why all seems empty.

And there, near the corner of an overturned desk, sits a small apple which he doesn't really think was delivered such a short time ago.

* * *

><p>Vexen is as much a creature of habit as Even was – maybe more so, when spontaneity isn't something chilled shadows can manage.<p>

Zexion is less so – and Vexen can faintly remember a qualm he had with a lack of…

_Something_, but now it is unimportant.


	65. Please

He's there to please people. Is a part of the job description, and one of the main cons of the job as all-powerful genie. The other is the teensy living space. But he can fix that, with a bit of magic he'll live like a sultan in his lamp- it's the gross lack of freedom that stings. Genie isn't even sure he still has a name, the word worn thin through eons and anyways, Genie is what the masters call him. He isn't exactly okay with that, but it works.

So far, he doesn't think anyone else has claimed the name. And Aladdin, the new guy, doesn't exactly ask either. But he's a crafty new guy- managed to swindle a wish just by a bit of an appeal to pride. He can probably swipe in a name for Genie too.

He doesn't. That's to be expected- and for being such a crafty guy, Aladdin's wishes are average. He wants a lot of liquid assets- easy, says that he can use those to charm a girl. Was kind enough to ask, even if that wore off a little. Another equally average want, and a bit more arrogance and-

Now, Genie didn't expect him to hold up to the old promise. The one that went:

"I'll use my last wish to set you free, Genie. Last one though."

Or something like that. His memory has gone a slight bit hazy after the last millennia. But that was the spirit, and the paraphrasing isn't that off. Neither was Al's attitude, and the guy can apparently hold a promise (or so he says). But there had been the Heartless (and the only reason they haven't caught him is because of the lamp- they're too large to get their grubby paws in) and Genie isn't really going to see freedom this time around-

Then there had been that boy with the humongous key, and a zany plan (which Genie hadn't seen completely, but he remembers Al going in with a trio of 'genies' and scamming the vizier). There had been a battle, there had been some brief time as a friend, an enemy, Al had pulled another moment of craftiness. He has a knack for those, if they are for a friend- or so the little monkey says.

And another empty lamp, luckily enough, because else Genie would've had to share, and no matter how much of a grand personality he has…

Then he didn't even need to worry. Then, Al had actually said the magic words-

"I wish for your freedom-"

And Genie did the obvious, one he'd whooped a little and tested out his legs.

He grabbed the guy in a tight hug, shaking him up a bit and giving thanks.

Al answers by rubbing his head, and saying that he'd said that he'd promised…

"Please. Not many do that."

"True. Thanks to you too, by the way. Drop by?"

He does, if not immediately.


	66. Painting

_We're painting the roses red…_

The cards were sheer nonsense, dying a blush upon blooms which would wake up tomorrow fresh and rain and just as colorless, Sora thought. But well, if it was truly as deep a matter as it seemed, Sora will gladly help out and around with a brush.

And he wouldn't be the only one – there is a little girl, pale blue dress stained with scarlet tears from a flower, humming along to the song. She isn't – and is – from here, what with the more delicate strokes of the brush and the way she'll still scrunch up her nose in confusion at the latest spout of randomness.

And Sora is a walking anomaly, here in a world which simply isn't his own…

Sora has also always been known for being just that tad mischievous. So Sora will obviously take credit for the small paint fight (and for winning it obviously).

But not for being led by this Alice – the girl now dunked in red – into a lotus forest in full bloom and where the cat is still cracking riddles.

* * *

><p>It isn't often that Sora will do this, what with all the unofficial hassles of a Keyblade Master…<p>

But Alice is waiting for him, in the room with the glasswork table and the dozing doorknob – nose still painted white-and-blue from their latest misadventure.

For a while, she'll let the girl be the guide, trapped in the rabbit hole with only paintbrushes as a weapon – and when someone (usually Riku, who is still wary of the outside worlds) asks why Sora's face is streaked with colors, he'll just lift another wonderfully useless trinket from the dreamland.

* * *

><p>Sora's in a memory gallery right now, where the halls are blinding white, and it's a blonde sweetheart leading him forwards. But the lack of color is getting to him, and the girl he seeks is both <em>loved<em> and… not right, somehow.

But Sora fixes this one step at a time, and paints the halls of any color he finds. Maybe it's… _Alice?,_ he thinks, arranged differently and she is just waiting for him to paint invisible roses red again.

Not that Sora wouldn't for her.


	67. Waterfall

It's an unspoken rule in Neverland that the tall waterfalls are found by accident, much in the same manner as anything is. And finding the waterfalls by being in the incorrect end of them is also part of the rule- much to the annoyance of many a Lost Boy, pirate, or as is the current case, a keyblade master.

Aqua stares up and up, debating whether to backtrack along the sea-facing cliff and face cannon fire again or summoning her glider. Which generally isn't a good idea- in most cases, she isn't an exceedingly good driver (and she's bopped Terra upside the head for implying that she can be that much of a girl at times). But that isn't the point.

So she turns around- back to face off with the hollering boys about some treasure and stuff, thinking up ways to excuse herself from partaking in the 'adventure'.

Then the little fairy shows up. Showers them all in golden dust, and almost literally pulls the boys by the ears.

Aqua supposes the ears in the animal suits they wear count. And the little girl managed to pull the fox-costumed boy up a little, if only because he's so scrawny.

The fairy goes towards Aqua, prepares herself to tug on one of the straps across her chest. Realizes that it isn't an actual costume, and Aqua isn't a boy. Shoots straight up, hovering in front of Aqua's face with a pout. Or maybe it's a glare.

She's worried about something, if the shrill chimes are anything to go by. Or a bit angry, since even the leader of the boys has agreed to defer (just a tiny, teensy smidge) to her. Definitely angry, as she punctuates the end of the tirade with a light step on Aqua's nose and sitting on her shoulder.

To keep watch, Aqua assumes. And she scales the waterfall, laughing a bit (because she hasn't done this in ages, even before leaving Departure)…

She gets chastised a bit by the fairy. Who departs from her shoulder to pick a couple leaves to demonstrate…

Jumping techniques, it seems. More elaborate twirls, mixed in with some chiming that Aqua assumes mean don't even try this with my boys.

She doesn't- but she does get congratulated a bit at the end, for the showmanship.

Aqua points at the fairy still perched on her shoulder. Receives a bewildered glare…

And a small 'hug', more to her short hair than anything else and more like a good-natured pull of the locks.

But the fairy is smiling.


	68. Door

"Same old, same door?"

Dilan could maybe manage to get Aeleus to speak when walking to the routine stand-in-front-of-door guarding duty. Once they were there, no chance, but so long as they were on the (in)correct side of the door…

"Yes. Did you see-"

"The pipsqueak sneak out? Sure. Even's going to be after us later."

A nod this time, because the manicured outdoors that both guards had thought that they'd get to protect were within sight. But not this time – for now, Aeleus and Dilan were just concerned with the overly dramatic door to the scientists' castle, and not with whatever version of chaos was happening in the deceptively quiet town this time.

* * *

><p>And deceptively clean – seriously, Dilan couldn't believe that he was stuck again with a broom in his hands for another afternoon.<p>

Unsurprisingly, it's Aeleus who comes to bail him out this time, just with the common small talk and copy-pasted mild insults at overactive kids and sunlight-deprived researchers.

Dilan refrains from asking why Aeleus won't properly help him out – not after both of them ended up paying for some of the broken materials.

"You know, no duty tomorrow."

"Same old, same old?"

* * *

><p>Forget <em>that<em>, and curse all brooms to cold, dark hells. Dilan is running; _curse_ it, from wall-eyed shadows and swatting at them with a broom-

The flimsy not-weapon is pulled from his grasp, a lance stabbing one of the shadows to his right, and Aeleus is staring at it like the shot wasn't _supposed_ to do that.

"You're still bad, you know. But thanks."

"You mind? The door is this way."

"Same old?"

"Did you ever doubt it?"

"Guess not."

* * *

><p>They don't make it, same as all others. Damned if they didn't try though. Dilan remembers barring the doors with his last lance, Aeleus remembers having to haul his friend through a hall after a couple of the things jumped him, and both of them remember having to chase a boy out to keep him from seeking for a friend.<p>

And yet, when the darkness recedes enough to let them ascertain that they are somehow _not_ dead, neither Dilan nor Aeleus is there – a pair of shadows certainly, with the memory of a boring duty guarding a broken-down door.

And just out of routine, it is there where the Superior finds them, still barring an entrance to a place.

Not that they return there anymore.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> – those guys kinda sorta need more love…? And hey, please tell me if I got Lexaeus's somebody name right…

And thanks for reading!


	69. Heaven

Axel didn't believe in heaven any longer. Probably stopped when Lea fell, once upon another lifetime, and Axel was the one to wake up in all-black and to gates of white with damnation _sort of_ written loud and clear on them.

Therefore, the whole idea of heaven flew out of reach along with a heart. Oh sure, there were those attempts at faking and very nearly emoting – and Axel would like to leave it understood that those blue eyes of Roxas were a fairly _decent_ facsimile of heaven, but not the real deal, as it was_ supposed _to be.

And it's a pity when said heaven-eyed boy just decides to leave him like it's no big deal. It really isn't, when neither of them has the ability _to feel_ so much, but for Axel it's a reminder of how easy it is to simply lose even the careful pantomimes.

* * *

><p>Now, it's Axel versus the heavens taking the shape of <em>another<em> blue-eyed boy. Even his name means sky, and the fact that it's both oddly empty and brimming with… let us say a heart makes Axel change. Flames burn all, _don't they_, and bringing down the dusky attendants of purgatory is a last action Axel _likes._

Maybe Roxas liked it too. And Sora – _come on, the sky itself…?_ – is trying to express the goodbyes of someone else. He can't – heaven is not used to dealing with a (hopefully) redeemed un-soul, but it's more than Axel hoped for.

And well, Sora hasn't gotten on the wrong side of death yet, and that denied heaven is close enough as to be within his reach. Who is Axel kidding – the whole idea is getting Roxas into some paradise or other. Since helping Sora is the correct route…

Axel doesn't get to see when Sora rushes out, like those alleged angels of yore which were harbingers of some divine doom. Or when Roxas finally fades off into the light – well, no surprise there.

But Axel does get that elusive taste of heaven – a brief non-afternoon perched on their clock tower, with the same ice-cream bars as always and hear Roxas's voice that one last time.

He doesn't remember shedding a tear into the light, or even what he said to Roxas.

But maybe heaven did choose to exist at times.


	70. Stars

Max didn't think much of stars beyond knowing that somewhere out there, a million worlds spun around like particularly slow fireflies. Sure, Max wanted to go there eventually, y'know how – whole thing with the high-tech and teenage dream inter-world travel ships, brag to his father-

But that was precisely the thing. Goof-head Goofy wasn't here, as any proper parent. Nope, he had to be those supremely, idiotically and (Max will deny even thinking this, as any teenage son would) awesome knight, not to mention the Guard's Captain. So logically, Goofy had to take to the blinking stars, as Max was supposed to do, with a (grudgingly polished by Max) shield strapped to his arm and the hilariously exploding duck magician.

Aw shucks, Goofy couldn't even resist the infuriating gesture of waving that frilly handkerchief as he just ran towards a star. Max thought he'd trained his dad enough for him to be suitably cool for this, but…

Meh with it – right now, Max would rather be embarrassed by a (hopefully not hereditary) Goofy-brand mannerism instead of being stuck in a staring match with the stars. Which he couldn't win in any case, what with the stars not having eyes or anything.

Yet Max will try, with all of his insurmountable teenage obstinacy, to outlast the stars' glare, and will his (overwhelmingly idiotic) dad damn back, because…

Overriding said teenage obstinacy and maybe stepping down on his pride with the ridiculously large good-luck shoes Max is wearing for a safe return. Even boys, y'know, sort of love their parents. Disregard the usual facades – Max is scared, because some of the stars have been twinkling out of the staring contests, and a teenage boy normally can't ask if a tin-headed knight has fought his very very last battle there, or if there's another world enjoying the presence (or not) of Goofy and whoever his last companion is.

So Max, in full night and under unsympathetic (the nerve of them) stars, just waves a frilly handkerchief and complains about dust on a shield – because that's as close as he's getting to actually admitting he misses his dad.

And like as not, Max won't let Goofy see him with the cool out.


	71. Fantasy

Shiki – _not-_Shiki, not for now with the Game on _again_ – was quite familiar with fantasies. Probably came with the whole _'I'm in one'_ spiel.

So, with her usual knight-in-headphone-armor missing in inaction and stranded in some hitherto unknown district of non-Shibuya and back in the costume-body to top it off, Shiki will get to pretend that _yes_, the silver-white-haired boy currently blubbering like a dying fish is her knight.

He has a sword even – overly dramatic, but a _sword._ Shiki fights bare fisted to be sure, with Mr. Mew backing her up if need be and the tight links of friendship and partnership keeping her safe and sound.

Riku – _Mr. Knight for now_ – doesn't look like the usual Game participants though. Even when he also has a missing partner, and seems flustered when she does anything.

Although maybe this fantasy is also taking his toll on him – she isn't _Kairi_ for the third time in a row, and he isn't some even-worse-clothed, bleached _Neku_ for a similar length of time either. But he's nice, even playing along with the Princess and Knight scenario in blinks and trips.

It's better like that, when the world is just a fantasy and it ends with them.

* * *

><p>When the other pale-haired boy tells Riku this is – <em>was?<em> – just a dream, it is less difficult to believe than Riku admits if should be. Surely it's because Shiki has called him Knight instead of… some other thing.

Or because she's Kairi again, only this time with a whole new brand of spice and…

(Insert denial about being fond of Shiki, _for shame,_ and he really would like her to play the distressed damsel a little better and not insist in breaking herself out)

No, Riku won't admit that this dream is frankly interesting, and that he might want to haul the girl in a hat all the way out to reality, animated guardian cat maybe included.

But he doesn't – Riku isn't even sure if he can, the way fantasies are clash-and-whirling. Two black haired girls dancing across the background keep both of them in dreamland, and Riku knows that both Shiki and… whoever the shadow specters are… belong here in fantasy. At least, the bespectacled one does, shy thing she is - the other one tugs and pulls in the same way _Shiki_ will do at his chest.

But damned be Riku if such a thing will stop them from trying – it's the very less he can do.


	72. Joy

Yuffie had never been surrounded by particularly perpetually ecstatic goofballs such as Sora – Squall (or Leon, whichever would bug him the most at any given moment) being a prime example. She's used to dealing with them – cheer, some names or two to wind them up and her patented ninja skills to sneak a smile from them.

And while Leon/Squall had been her greatest challenge, he did deserve to be lord of the neon-lit emo corners dotting Traverse Town. The past and all that – but now that he was under the White Rose's care, with Aerith as the aide, it was long past.

However, previously-mentioned, happy-go-lucky Sora Spikehead's best friend Riku isn't quite as deserving of the king-of-the-angst-hill title in Yuffie's knowledgeable opinion.

(At the very least, acting in a more optimist manner will keep the darkness away. Yuffie really doesn't want more people falling down into it – she's forgotten how many of her trademark white roses she's placed on empty heart-graves)

* * *

><p>Riku had always been around incarnations of (bloody) joy. And he really thought that Sora could be taking the cake…<p>

If a certain self-proclaimed ninja doesn't nick it away. Yuffie probably won't – there is far too much closeness between him and Sora for that, and Riku isn't quite sure that the shuriken-wielder is doing it only for his sake.

(Of course she is – it's a matter of honor, as Riku should know very, very well.)

Still, it's nice to see other joys. The high-wattage tricks from avoiding an explosion in the kitchen, besting Riku in a fight-

(Getting him to smile, or the hasty way that they will both decline Aerith's atrocious cuisine)

-riled up because of the most recent semi-desultory nickname, or having Riku tie up another band in her weapon. Those are reserved for friends, Yuffie says, even when most of the ribbons are Aerith's.

(She'll often mutter about Leon never tying any, the ungrateful…)

Riku, however, can be a fount of joy as well – even if this time, it was only to prove Yuffie that no, martially-skilled pretty boys weren't all endless angst machines.

(And Leon hadn't heard of this because he had managed to best her and smile a day before, so…)

Riku-style, it meant dropping a white rose on her head and trying to remember the clever nickname he had a second or two ago.

But it's enough – Yuffie does drop her argument, and even the mildly over-the-top cheering-up antics.

For a (way too long) while, at least.

* * *

><p>A.N. – <strong>Bond Of Flame08<strong>, confound you and your epic writing skills which drive me to imitation. (But seriously, if you're reading this, you should be heading right over there to read her fic, _The Oddities of Love_, as well.) Hoping you all had a wonderful New Year's, thanks for the continued support, and see you around!


	73. Rain

There is rain, and then there is _rain_ – the type that leaves monsoons to shame and drown the world in ceaseless pattering and blue-gray drizzles.

Selphie's been stuck in both of them, a curly-haired sun beaming loud and off-key songs into the clouds and chasing them off with the cheery cacophony. It isn't a tried-and-true method, same as most superstitions are. And there is also that time or two that Wakka and Tidus got fed up with her antics and just dunked her in water.

But ask anyone – if it's not the weather phenomena, Selphie is the local psychologist with a perpetual overdose of sunny views and romantic dreams. Not that it hurts anyone – Kairi knows that full well. Mostly since it was Selphie filling in for the two best friends that had been clumsily erased from the collective consciousness.

Not that the blithe sun knew – Selphie was just trying her best to dispel the rain clouds that she could perceive better than anyone. So all the redacted messages and bottle hunts and frantically tying paper into wishing stars were just a steady stream of sunlight.

Kairi really had missed that, especially since that boy wasn't here anymore and the lack of his name made skies rumble with memory rains and cloudy eyes. So Kairi just plays along with Selphie's antics and hears all of the tales spun from the stories they both read so much.

It's all in the name of stopping a rainy heart-day and bringing one –

"No Selphie, I told you already it's two boys –"

"Woopsie, my bad… it's still so very dreamy!"

"What, the princess waiting for her knights?"

"They'll come back and you know it! You know, the bottles will reach their shore, and they'll pick up a letter and press it to their hearts-"

A series of tinkling giggles and the sea bearing the latest missive to wherever, along with the scent of long-past rain.

"Well, much better now, isn't it Kai?"

"Sure is."

"Hmm… y'know, I hope your knights are as nice as you think they are. Think I can borrow one?"

"More like barge into their lives and take over with smiles and all?"

"Awww…"

"Sure can."


	74. Meeting

They had an 'official' meeting place, under the tracks where the odd train or so would rattle and cheer at the very latest Struggle victory or actually funny pulled-off prank against Seifer's 'committee'.

Thing was, they didn't like using it that much. Olette kept complaining that it wasn't as close to her store as she'd like, while Pence would complain that it was a hassle to run from there _all _the way to their favorite ice-cream provider. They'd say only, but they really haven't checked if the other markets and stores carry more of the almost-criminally good sea-salt flavor.

Hayner had been the one with the truly awesome idea of staking out the top of the clock tower as theirs. And obviously it had been Pence who'd tried to dissuade him from such a thing – it hadn't worked, but more than one ice-cream bar or stick found the fate that the trio often tried so hard to avoid.

It was perfect – high up enough to punch nighttime into the paper-thin sunset after a particularly long day, and _the_ spot to celebrate a won match, where the only thing beyond them were the stars and even then, _Pence_ could reach them easy.

It was Olette the first who caught on to the fact that they had left the clock tower for some reason. She supposed it was because it was increasingly hard to simply sneak out there, what with the rising paranoia. Hayner bristled for a while; Pence relished the ability to finally carry extra sweets around.

Their old meeting place was dingier than they remembered, the couch was _definitely _softer and the hum of the train was louder than they remembered though. And the compelling _something_ that bound them to the expectedly cramped room was more of an external issue rather than teenage territorialism or memory's sake.

They return to the clock tower later, when Pence declares that the rumbling is too much and Hayner begins to show those signs of claustrophobia he never quite manages to hide.

It's not the same as when they left it since that last meeting – there are extra shadows, and the usual detritus of teenage usage are conspicuously absent.

But it doesn't matter to them to have another faux-haunted place. It's _their _innocuous town after all.


	75. Truth

The place reeks of stolen familiarity, with neon-lights blazing hysterically and sleep-living people roaming the streets.

The sleeping, the dead, and the fake. Ri- no, _Repliku_ (as someone had used to call him, maybe once long ago) mulls over as he just strays along, phenomenally bored of it all.

Of _all_ afterlives to possibly land in, he has the_ luck_ to land in the one made of dreams. Fake by definition – seems like that single quality is loath to relinquish its death-grasp on him. At least, Repliku gets some originality here – all his actions are his own, and so far as he's seen no-one wears anything resembling his ungainly get-up or the cloak he has picked up somewhere.

Make that only the bodysuit, as there is this one other being clad in the damnable cloak, hood up and looking lost. He makes to approach it, wary and just readying a response for the barrage of cheers at a hero's demise-

It's a girl, surprisingly, and moving with a robot-like grace that normal non-existence can't give. And most unusual of all, Repliku can't match her to a name, or a particular threat.

But she knows the Real Thing, _dammit_, and it's all he can do to not lunge out and try to explain that no, he isn't dead and that yeah, he's an entirely (hopefully) different person.

* * *

><p>Truth is, the Real Thing appears to be a mannequin magnet – first him, and now Xion of the memories. And has a tendency to ruin them as well – he's trying to impart this particular bit of knowledge to her.<p>

Any actual attachment to her will be summarily denied – it was the Real Thing's girl, and he doesn't want anymore borrowed traits. But he sees the original's point. Xion is charming, simply put, and even has the requisite tact to not comment on the small details of his life that both match up and are jarringly different.

And Repliku supposes he never learns that replicas can't do more than gaze longingly at the originals. More so when Xion runs, full-tilt and joy so evident in her blue eyes, towards him in plain sight.

So much for bitter truths – but well, it's closing the score a bit more between them.


	76. Gaze

He's been watching the skies for longer than anyone, so hard that the winking worlds up above are old friends which haven't got any news. He can even begin to recognize individuals, occasionally messing up the names or fudging up positions, but it's still clear what's he's gazing at so intently.

Of course, now he's indoors for a while, so said object is the ceiling. And the gaze can actually pierce holes into it, measuring the distances off in the pure void above. It isn't simple, but he has the routine down to an art – a long look, a sniff at the elongated shadows on the ground and then just piercing the stonework with memory beams.

And a howl, or a bark as well. If Pluto really wants to find out where Master is, long looks won't cut it. At least, in this situation they won't. They're not in the spacious castle, where enough snooping around corners will eventually reward one with a friend and anyways, it's not as if they really mean to hide.

Pluto gazes steadfastly at the ceiling, a girl curled up by his side and doing the same – although Pluto suspects in her case it's less (or more) than a mouse that she's looking for.

* * *

><p>Mickey is as lost as he gets, wherever he is right now. He's seen both everything and nothing at all, gazed upon myriad roads and taken a couple steps along half of them at least. At least, he's not been alone – although he does miss the light, and being actually able to discern the target of his gazes.<p>

He hears a long, awkwardly mournful howl. Mickey doesn't particularly know from where, but it's something he has to follow because hey, his best friend is here (there) somewhere. Probably panicky to boot – Pluto is not an indoors-dog, same as Mickey is; neither can he stand the dark.

That's what he's barking at then – so gaze set on a non-descript but sort of darker point far off in the distance, Mickey takes a stance with practiced ease, and whistles.

The bark that answers seems cheerier now – "I'm coming, boy!"

* * *

><p>A.N. – tangential to the skies… well, hope you're still here, and have a nice day!<p> 


	77. Picture

They are all pictures within the pop-up canvas of Oblivion, going through motions penned by a hand much larger than Naminé's. And probably gloved in black, she supposes, and with rosewood hair blushing along sharp leather planes. He probably doesn't use the synthetic wax crayons either, with their finger-thick traces and dream-bright colors.

Marluxia uses a scythe most often, but Naminé has seen him twirl other things in his graceful hands. One of the rare pens with actual ink, a knife 'borrowed' from Larxene. A strand of her flaxen hair tugged on ever so slightly and held almost far enough to hurt.

The top of the right strap of her dress, pressed back down on her shoulder. When he does that, she always feels the whisper of pink against her cheeks and will frenziedly rub the back of her hand along there, checking to see if the color is passed along like a powder brush.

More often than not, there will be a hint of redness on the hand. A strand of hair slashing the pristine white of her existence, a note scribed on the back of a page in handwriting that can almost be altered into a picture.

She's tried disguising it, wreathing it in color and added details (it almost always ends up a drawing of him). She's tried erasing, stretching long black-gray claws along a page and making the pictures bleed (and she can't help but see his hands smudging her barely-there outline against the equally pale walls with more success).

They are all pictures in the all-white castles, drawn in with a pen and cut out with a scythe. All but him and Naminé supposes herself. The girl in the white of funeral shrouds and swaying blossoms, the girl stained with the pale blush of smiles and chained with words to her high-backed chair.

From the walls, drawings stuck without a clear plan in mind stare at her, or more accurately, at the mark on her hand.

At the hint of color, the avoided erasure, a kiss from the poisoned roses.

Naminé wants to forget the two-edged threats most of all, and just tries to draw them away with the boy in red yet again.


	78. Empty

The training area at the Coliseum seems inordinately big, and not only because it is a Coliseum instead of some other, more appropriate place.

It's the small details Hercules sees – another locked cubby, with some peeling pictures somehow adhered to it. The extra set of sword-and-armor piled in a teenager mess. The rookie leader-boards, which he caps, engraved with a much shorter name underneath.

Hercules knows the name – hell, it's engraved all over the pieces of equipment that kept popping up in the most unexpected of places. Zack – for Zachary – Fair. It's the black-haired boy beaming from the pictures; here with the blond kid they saw the one time; here with a pretty girl wearing her hair in a braid and a bright pink ribbon; here in some training session that managed to not implode into a Heartless-or-whatever attack.

His companion and best bud has left for… what has it been now? Well, at least two tournaments, maybe ten. Neither of them was very good with timing either ways.

But now, Hercules has managed to collect all the strewn equipment (a thirteenth job to add to his impressive list). The group photographs have managed to fall to the ground and be gobbled up by his fan club, although they omitted the one where he was with the aforementioned pretty girl. The cubby was re-assigned to another guy who left during training.

The only thing that remains fixed is the name right under his own in the leader boards, and even then it seems as empty as the spaces left by the 'boy' when he left to wherever.

He hefts up the (puny for him, and overly long) sword, twirling it around like Zack used to do. It logically falls – Hercules isn't one for swordplay. Never was – that was Zack all the way, lightning strikes and strong jabs and wide sweeps mixed in with rolls and leaps.

And, if Hercules is right, when (not if, guy was pretty focused on the whole 'becoming a hero' business) he gets back here, he'll need a good challenge to pass.

For a while, the empty area rings alive with noise and brawls, practice for the 'party' to come.

That's what Zack would've liked anyways.


	79. Shoes

Aqua knew about persnickety shoes. Light's sake, she was a _master_ in the issue, all thanks to her own pair of metal boots. Heavy, a pain to take on or off, hook at the heel to make her trip up… stylish, to be sure, but Aqua sure enjoyed the small casual jaunts through other worlds where she didn't have to don any armor.

Then, 'Castle of Dreams' happened. A blink's worth of her Terra, smitten by some young lady (and about _time_ – she had been getting tired of some of the looks he sent her way). A muddle with a prince who, appearance and politeness notwithstanding couldn't hold a candle to Phillip. Aqua ended up chasing a maiden 'dressed in starlight silk', to hear him say it, with only a prodigy of glasswork as a clue.

A glassy slipper. Had to be enchanted – even with the daintiest, most careful of grips the Keyblade Master could manage, Aqua was worried it would break if she so much as _looked_ at it while holding it in her battle-accustomed hands. Oh, she got help – the kindly old lady and her magic, Terra's words of a radiant heart.

And, as she was expecting –no wonder could ever last that long unharmed– Aqua saw the glass shatter into a million tears, spilling over the clear floor. She saw the girl –she had to hand it to Terra, he knew how to describe and pick the girls- reveal the broken slipper's twin. The other jealous girls taken by the dark – maybe _one_ didn't deserve it, but with that influence…

Later, once Cinderella calmed down and she was safe in her prince's castle, Aqua couldn't resist asking. About the shoes, the night, the dance, the _shoes_.

(Oh, how much of a girl would both her dear boys say Aqua was in that moment…?)

She had a proper chat then, about things that Aqua really didn't think she had been starved of. Gossiping about traveling, work, boys (she had seen both of them, lucky girl. Liked Ven better, though he was such a _cute little thing_)…

Oh yeah, and the small bit about footwear. A not-so-small bit, more like a friendly rant and a couple of passes around the room in Aqua's boots and a nearly-identical pair of slippers.

Somehow, she left with a promise of another chat, and a vaguely alluded-to trip between them. And just because, maybe she wouldn't drag her boys along.

* * *

><p>A.N. – friendship ftw? Considering the series itself… yeah, makes sort of sense. Same as everyone wearing the craziest shoes… looking at you Sora, or rather everyone…<p>

To the guys who are still reading this… *hug and cookies* man, I didn't think anyone would! You're worth the world!


	80. Giving

Vanitas has never been much of a giving person. Comes with being darkness incarnate, or so would the most open, forgiving souls think. Frankly, Vanitas simply thought himself above such petty concepts and all the pious buffoons were just good for a laugh. Vanitas was more of a ruthless taker, enjoying the whole destruction business and watching his little minions sweep across the land, felling all in their wide tide.

Or rather, he used to like such a thing –now, he was stuck in some sort of slumber within slumber (as if he's easily restrained even by that-), and has to take his pleasures from simply watching this Sora guy's actions. Such a sappy, heartwarming show…

_Oh my, how long has it been…?_

The castle is definitely twisted from his previous jaunt around here, and even Ventus stirs behind consciousness at the place. It reeks of familiar magic, and Vanitas just _knows_ that this once was Departure.

But Oblivion fits it better. The nothingness, heavy with darkness and deceit, _always_ fits _anything_ better. There is a girl unraveling everything within, and Vanitas is quite tired of _meddling_ girls by this point, even if this one is no blue maiden.

At least, she's up to scratch. She –Naminé, he thinks is her name– just _takes_ and _takes_, giving out little cheery dooms in exchange for freedom and a dumb smile. A proper plan, even with all the fetters that bind her to blinding white and darkness –maybe it's even better that way.

_Such a pretty tool._

Vanitas thinks that he might as well polish a bit his charm and test out those antiquated chivalry codes preserved from some ruin or other. Give the little Naminé-bird a taste of gold-eyed freedom, a glimpse of void-power and shows of all he's taken. Just to make her shake off the restraints of pretense care, just to turn her over to his side.

Vanitas rarely gives, unless he's interested.

And, just for Naminé in her cherished prison, he might just make one of those rare exceptions for his egoist modus vivendi.

But only because she'll be certainly more amusing than his Unversed.

* * *

><p>A.N. – I really do write Vanitas as an arrogant teenager… but I guess that's how he rolls, or something :)<p>

So… comments? Anything? That said, I don't own anything yet and blah blah blah, takje care, and see you around!


	81. Lost

There aren't that many ways to get lost in Radiant Garden, despite it being a quite large town and Ienzo being a small boy. He has managed it though, as many scientists and townsfolk will attest. Probably has to do with the emptiness of the place, or the not-quite labyrinthine pathways that all end up leading to the central plaza.

He was there now, and marveling at the presence of anything. Small, jumpy figures, even smaller than him (_and was that even possible?_) darting around, gazes searching frantically for something (_what could it be? Certainly not food, as they lacked any moths and therefore…_)

One of them locks on to him, red slits-of-an-eye focusing intently on him (_maybe it's his blue hair – it looks similar enough…_) and comes closer, claws outstretched and all Ienzo can process is that, for being a predatory animal, it lacks certain necessary attributes.

It's close, so close, and it feels odd, emptier than the air around and -_ohnonotmeanythingelsebutme_-

Another boy (_what was the chance of that? We aren't so many…_) bolts out from nowhere.

(_He really does, the presence of someone else is overwhelming when all around you is empty_)

The blond boy moves wind-fast, scalpel-precise and cleanly halves the small entities, all the while just calling out that _you need to get away! These are dangerous!_

Ienzo stays, just looking on. He's never seen a boy like this – no warrior, no large weapon (he isn't a guard and it most certainly is at least… safer?)

He's never seen someone who looks-feels half-empty, even when he fights like a lion from the stories. Ienzo always thought they'd be… fuller. More physical, but not in this boy's sense, ghost-fast and asphyxia-deadly. Maybe it's because, after it all was said and done, he spins around and just smiles. Asks away _are you alright_ and _who are you_ and _where are your parents?_

Ienzo doesn't know the answer to either; he's just focusing on the half empty boy-from-nowhere and the way he chats up with Even, intent on sending him somewhere safe.

Ienzo owes him one, owes the other boy something, if nothing else for the return to void routines.

* * *

><p>A.N. – much as I love the littlest guy in this fic, he was way too creepy for his own (cute) good. And please do take a guess at who burst in to save the day ;) Have a nice day!<p> 


	82. Touch

He hasn't been allowed to touch most things in the castle. Not that Replica particularly _wants_ to – the floor seems to be a wisp of cloud, the walls condensed breaths and all in all, he feels like he's the only one properly _solid_ in the place. He's tried to bend around the ban – Replica is always being thanked by the girl in white for handing her everything she needs, he's almost a lab assistant (even when that is an 'experience' that he would wish on the Real Thing every day, without fail).

And he's seen them. The odd other-clones – most of them scientist-copies. A couple of the most grotesque dusks he's ever seen. Spare parts – he gets a nagging feeling that erosion is the reason he isn't allowed to touch a thing, lest he wants a semi-real arm replaced with one that now he knows is artificial. A bunch of little failures-to-be, who will soon collapse with reality and the long list of orders.

The _new_ thing. Or maybe _thing_ isn't the proper term – it looks fairly like him, smells of something other than antiseptic and dust _(one of the shadows would know, but he won't reduce himself and ask)._ Only the bare sounds of whirring and muted breathing from under a bunch of masks and tubes and the bouncy gel.

_(He wants to stick his hand in the slick substance, if only because it itches for some sensation)._

He doesn't, because he managed to even copy the odd twisted chivalry. Or something – he is somewhat averse to touching a sleeping girl, even if it's a Real Thing detail. But it doesn't stop him from just having his eyes glued to what he can see of her.

Pale skin, as everyone here seems to have. The place doesn't lend itself to color aside from the garish intruder who both is and isn't his best (friend) enemy. Black hair. Large eyes, and she looks too innocent to ever be from around here.

_(He does away with the chivalry, because right now, he's too curious about the puppet-to-be)._

Replica stretches out a hand, wincing as the coolness of the liquid hits him.

He doesn't know why, but he dislikes the fact that this hides the small details. He can't feel the pulse he _believes_ is there, can't really touch the slender, pale wrist without it almost warping in his grasp.

But hey, he tried.


	83. Music

You haven't stopped playing since back then, and you don't plan to do so know. Although you often cringe at the warped sounds from the instruments. Flinch at the unusual sense of a weapon. Laugh and clumsily dodge around the small white note cards that cut paper-lines through your music, driving him off to missions.

It's the reason why you've gone for a longer time paired with someone. A sorely unlucky someone. Or no-one, to be as persnickety as he was with that language.

You and the elder-younger man would often get sent somewhere together –maybe to instill in you some sort of work ethic, maybe because Xigbar always was "the greatest example of utter waste of potential I've seen in two existences, even if you're making a point of defying that statement."

You just shrug in disagreement you don't really show, ruffling your awkward hairdo and readjusting the sitar in your hands. Mindlessly, you pluck a few strings; a chord you know won't blow up in bubbles or torrents when you play it. And Zexion –because you've made it a point of trying to remember who he is, in case you ever get roped in anything tougher than recon and need a go-free ticket– rolls his eyes in mock-exasperation and strides forward.

You send music after him, a fading reminder and marker of your continued presence. He knows that you can't leave anyways. But then again, you can't be bothered to really even do the recon- you only play for the nonexistent audience and sing out the questions. There's always a sucker willing to unwittingly answer, always saying things along the lines of a song meant for me, or man, she'll love that line about…

And you sing because for too long there have been people complaining about your uselessness, from the time with long division and surgery-complex music sheets, all the way to where those are applied to little toy-looking hearts.

What you don't see, is Zexion making odd rounds around the place, always within the furthest range of earshot. The subtle points towards you, the half-a-million illusions that serve to weave the sound cocoon-like around wherever you've taken as a stage.

You don't see (or even give a flying thought about) the rhythmic cadence of both your weary steps, the way that he has tapped the exact flow of the song into creases in the sleeves of his cloak or the way that he later uses lines you'd find familiar as lure.

But then again, you can't care. Not even about the fact that it mock-feels good and bad when you hand in a fully-completed report and return to sit conspicuously close to him and he ignores the musical hums of victory you send his way.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> – happy slightly belated birthday KH! Although you'll get celebrated properly when you decide to arrive here, dammit. Here's to hoping the date is June-July as a couple of rumors have had it.

On other news, cheers to you guys for continuing to read this. None of the characters/settings/what have you actually belong to me (Square and Disney, hats off to you good sirs and ma'ams). Story does though, so make an author happy and leave a review/flame/what have you – they're all appreciated!

And yeah, went with an awkward style here, for the fun of it (you get to be Demyx, so cheers!)


	84. Cold

They've been together for what isn't forever, but it's close enough. Lexaeus still remembers the gauche, miniature child and Zexion can't really shake the image of a bulwark of a man guarding imposing gates and handing him a bar of ice-cream.

It was a cold, awkward relation back then, of a surrogate father and a lost kid. Semi-eternal quiet afternoons pointing out clouds or poring over the latest theory Ansem had allowed the youngest to study. A day spent teaching Ienzo how to pick people apart by looks, a day gone to just standing guard perched on a shoulder and marveling at the auburn curls.

And of course, now that nothing has changed, the relation is as frigid as ever. Zexion pores over theories, Lexaeus teaches him to twist the small metal puzzles apart. The younger says they're like people and tectonic plates, the elder just nods in agreement. Days gone by in quiet scheming and looking just slightly warily over their backs.

Their – after all this time, they still haven't shaken off the last remaining bonds of… something. They've given up with wandering down that research- Zexion will mostly claim he's forgotten-

_(But not the gleam of sunlight over auburn, or the fact that he spent weeks shying away from the oversized tomahawk)_

-and Lexaeus will just nod, a silent cue that the Schemer knows how to interpret-

_(He at times still has to remember that Ienzo's grown, and he doesn't get lost as often either)_

After all, nothing has really changed that much. There's still a stalwart guardsman, there's still a quiet boy with his nose deep in a dictionary or any other book.

And this, the cold from back then and back now, even in the pearly-white memory castle and-

_(A boy pointing at something blindingly common like a cat just so that he could run off unhindered-)_

Neither of them is surprised when they get sent off together-

But only Lexaeus did catch the fact that this was eerily similar to before and-

_(Creeping cold, a boy in a dirty lab coat hiding behind him-)_

Well, sent off together it is.

* * *

><p>A.N. – man, this last week or so was hectic. If I never see a certain chapter of Don Quixote again it will be much too soon, missed writing like crazy, blah blah blah.<p>

So, thanks for waiting guys! *Hug*


	85. Morning

"What?"

Louie drops the wrench, shaken out of the hard-working vibe he'd been in. Dewey picks his cap off his eyes, doing the best job he can of sending Huey a withering glare when more than half asleep.

"It's- it's- it's the big day and morning is here and do we have enough-?"

From under a still too-tilted cap, Dewey looks at what he can see of the town skyline. Neon lights spilling from dirty ceilings, open windows with snores rolling out, the streetlights maybe deciding to begin the dimming. A long, almost-fate and paper-silky strip of natural yellow beginning to climb up slower than the charge gauge on their important invention.

"Hew, we do have the ice-cream. You busted Cid's kitchen for it, Aerith's, and Yuffie came to ask us for tips on how to wreak that much havoc in Leon's house. What we should be asking is, will this thing run?"

Louie just picks up his wrench again, clanking it with a lot of strength on the chassis. A solid ring, and he has to dodge the rebounding tool.

"Sounds like it will!"

A couple of signals are exchanged.

Huey drops to a small stereo, fitted on the bottom part, and selects a simple track. They miss the old ones, but hey. At least they managed to keep the blueprints for this baby.

Louie bounces up and down, clambering to the top of the structure to a plush seat and a bunch of controls that-

"A quick reminder on which ones work?"

"All of 'em! The ones on your thumbs shoot!"

"Yeah, 'cos which are my thumbs?"

"Err… big red buttons?"

"All right!"

Okay, he is a bit rusty. But just a bit- it had to be all the cajoling they had to do, the hours spent at Cid's reviewing techniques, and well, at least he's kept his aim.

"Target acquired…"

Dewey is holding the target stoically, eyes closed and really praying under his breath. Huey isn't even minding the pretenses and just covered most of his eyes.

"Set…"

A feathered finger hovering over the button-

And a perfect ice-cream cone in the other engineer's hand. Wild whooping and curses from elsewhere to "quiet down, it's really way too early in the morning!"

But really, there's no calming down some kids who managed to, at long last, get something they liked irrevocably back.

Now, to rub it in Leon's face… and oh man, Sora'll be out of it when he sees…

And hey, maybe that Terra guy from way before might get a second or eleventh shot at this.


	86. Night

It is a very Ventus thing to do to fall asleep in the lone bench at the mountaintop. Half the time it will happen with a blanket, half the time he'll just end up staring for too long at the night sky until suddenly, the back of his lids is sprinkled with stars.

But he tends to wake up in a more comfortable place.

Most of the times, it's a room cluttered beyond belief. There will be a wooden practice sword leaning against the bed haphazardly, the blankets will be crumpled and even in daylight, it is night-pitch colored because the owner hasn't been known to be really organized and has managed to make a mess out of the wall hangings and curtains. And Ventus will look just like he belongs there, with his sun-nest hair and laying sprawled on the bed or even the floor.

Maybe it's because he's been carried there too many times instead of left to wake up covered in dew and freezing cold.

It isn't much of a Terra thing to sleep outside. Oh, he has done such things- the days when the training sessions chase the moon in.

The odd moments when, just for a moment, the others really didn't look like they once did.

The moments when he has brought out an unexplainably fluffy blanket and even a pillow, reached the somewhat small bench at the mountain's peak and just decided that, just for this time, he'll figure out why Ven thinks that this place is more comfortable than any other room.

Terra doesn't tend to wake up somewhere more comfortable- sometimes it'll be the sloping steps up to the castle, sometimes just a patch of long grass and clover. And there'll be a small, blonde boy slumped over him, deeply asleep and, most of the times, exhaustedly smiling.

Ventus really can't haul Terra all the way back home. But well, when he gives up, he can at least make sure that he doesn't wake up alone.

Oh, and someone need to explain why did the gets the bumps and bruises in the night.


	87. Need

Saïx thinks he doesn't need much aside from the basics for survival. Comes with literal heartlessness and the dismissal of most logic, but he supposes that at least that he can 'enjoy'. That and the lack of tedium from administrative duties- had he a heart, Saïx thinks he would've cleaved the Grey Room asunder out of sheer boredom.

No, that wouldn't have been him. It would've been Axel, because he'd get bored easier. And because, even if he never was too prone to physical prowess, Axel would've burnt the place down to the ground and called it a job well done.

And it wouldn't have been Axel either, since he's too cavalier to even take destruction seriously and Saïx considers chiding him for not taking lacking a heart seriously enough.

But neither of them needs to, nor can. It's just a mission to them, if one with a particularly valued prize. If existence can be thought of as a prize- Saïx thinks he's entitled to it, after everything.

After losing a friend and a world, even if he can't remember too much about either of them. The friend he remembers burnished red-and-gold in setting sun and flames. Lounging in a stiff white couch, flicking through the mission details instead of heading off, the moment just before Saïx none too subtly sends him off (generally not even bothering to level a claymore at him).

And then, Saïx remains quiet even mentally, because he needed to do something. He's certain of it, even if he forgot what it was that he had to do, but he's lost Axel again- even when he remembers the previous name even better than his own, even when he remembers how Axel-not-Axel looked (down to the permanently-scuffed shoes and the myriad bruises from fights) but not the color of his own eyes.

He's certain they weren't yellow, but his old eye color isn't what he needs. And he can't actually need Axel's old camaraderie back- an ally, certainly, but it need not be Axel.

Need not, but Axel is who Saïx would rather have. For some reason, and he cites memories and the tactical need for long range (and considering Xigbar to be an even wilder cannon and Xaldin a tad too prone to toying with his prey).

So Saïx says he doesn't need anything, and a claymore is enough to dissuade anyone from disagreeing.

Anyone except Axel, that is, and Saïx always thought that he was too dense to sway away from danger.


	88. Necklace

Kairi doesn't remember who gave her the necklace exactly. She supposes it was someone from the world she vaguely remembers- the one with the castles and a loving tiny grandma. But Kairi does remember getting the small blue stone hanging on a thin silver chain. Remembers wearing it every single day- she still does, it's a pretty thing even through the wear.

So maybe she's hazy about where she got it from. She was a young kid back then, same as everyone, and anyways Kairi has received many little gifts already.

She remembers one of them, from oh so far away. There had been a castle, that Kairi knows, and she'd held flowers. A large bunch of them, all color and scent- for whom, she doesn't know, except that originally they were for someone other than the mouse. Or the tall blue-haired lady with a key.

Kairi remembers the blue-haired lady clearly enough, for being a childhood thing. Remembers that she had been all in blue, and not just her hair- she hadn't commented on it, probably because it was rude. That she'd spoken for a while with the mouse, and Kairi had given the lady her name- might have asked. And anyways, Kairi had given her the flowers, a smile and even convinced grandma to tell the beautiful tale about light and darkness again.

The lady had smiled for a bit, and then gone slightly sad. Kairi thinks that she had handed the flowers over there and then, because there is a hazy memory of the blue-haired lady smiling at the mildly disheveled flowers.

Then had come a bright burst of light, and the lady laughing softly. Probably because Kairi felt wall-eyed in the memory, sight malfunctioning a little by the flash just in front of her nose, and a little under.

A protective charm on the necklace, from the nice blue-haired lady. She had apologized for the bright flash, and hadn't minded too much when Kairi grabbed the shiny blue-steel key.

That's what she remembers, and that's what she tells Yen Sid in his tower when he summons her. Kairi for now doesn't know much- that is fixed at vertiginous speed, and with too much sarcasm (but she gets back at Lea for that)- and now she is certain of something. Even if her skill isn't agreeing with her too much at the moment.

She's going out to help Aqua- the blue-haired lady. Because of that one memory from so long ago.


	89. Rainbow

He's standing atop the rainbow's end. A million glass-color stars pressed into somewhere that supports Roxas just. Barely. Enough.

It's awkward, standing there. The floor, crisscrossed by the mosaic, looks breakable- even more than what lingers of him. And if this is a heart, then Roxas really expected something in better quality. And that's cutting it the allegedly due slack for the '_it was broken once so that you could, somehow, exist_' bit.

The sleeping likeness of him on the ground isn't the most reassuring thing though- Roxas thinks he looks _more_ than nonexistent when cobwebbed through and lying prone on the ground.

He also keeps expecting someone to pick him up and haul him somewhere blanker, but that isn't what-

"Hey!"

_Mother of nothingness and Kingdom Hearts on a hot cross bun._ _Where _are his keyblades when he wants them, and-

"We look the same! Neat but-"

_Who's _the other person? _Why_ the copied look- Roxas knows he doesn't look like Sora much, but…

"No, you aren't the other guy. 'M Ventus- nice to meet you!"

The _other _guy? Wait, there are _more_?

"Nobody?"

"That isn't a name… or it wasn't the last time I checked."

A brief spell of astonishment.

"Hmm, Sora got your tongue?"

"Hope not. Has way too much of me already."

"Welcome to the boat then…?"

"Roxas."

But he isn't falling for the same friendship trick again. Not like he thinks he can, or something like that.

"Roxas. Whatever happened to normal names?"

"And you're one to speak?"

The wildest grin Roxas ever thought he'd see on his face, and it looks halfway to uncomfortable and halfway like the rainbow both boys are standing on decided to surge up to the arch of a mouth.

He is guilty of missing the next bit of whatever old-new guy Ventus said. Roxas is busy tallying the prisms of light, the time the other boy blinks and just how many things they have in common.

The face, the somewhat empty eyes. Tousled blond hair. He smiles, and Roxas remembers once smiling softly enough to qualify.

"Hey, so you can emote. Or smile. Same thing really. Cheers- I once heard this runs on happy faces."

"If it's Sora they're speaking about, then it better be true."

"Seems so- although, bad joke."

Roxas laughs at this- eerily familiar and he doesn't want to go back and-

Maybe, he'll give this friendship thing a second shot.


	90. Beauty

He can't take the color red seriously.

No, not in that sense- Sora has seen enough blood to dye everyone in sticky iron; enough pretty flowers to paint a world in poppies.

Enough flames searing and gobbling and he feels his heart be devoured at the incandescent memory.

So no, Sora can't take the color very seriously anymore. But he craves it.

Sora can't tear his eyes away from dawns anymore, even when the sunsets are unbearable in their crimson death-flickers.

_(But oh, to see the man who ruled over the twilit skies again and the smile pulling at poison-lips)_

He can't ignore the trickster silky flow of Kairi's hair.

_(But it's not the sweet princess Sora sees- he sees treason tresses and spikes flaring up like the pull from within)_

He wastes more than usual in glaring at candles and even a lighter.

But it isn't Sora who craves all- this both plus one know better than themselves or death.

_(The glares counted down to the second and leaving everything hinging on a rapidly-consumed split-second of sputtering apologies and blazing pseudo-regrets)_

Sora still inverts so much time to the little dancing flames.

They're no flurries but-

_(Guilt. The last speech and half flew out of his mind along with the charred non-ashes and the fireflies. He isn't sure half-himself got the-)_

Flurries. Flames. Imaginary sunsets and the death throes of a million foes and a nearly-beloved dying Axel

_(Best friend and best traitor and why oh why did you ever-?)_

Sora craves the seriousness of red again, a marker of importance and hazy bittersweet. Craves smiles he never had and never saw.

But it hurt. Gloriously with the beat of a recovering pulse and fragments of someone else embedded deep.

And he craves the peace of sanity. The warmth of almost-loving, burning red.

_(Being so very infinitely close to the whole-)_

And Sora plus one-and-a-half know and crave so very much to re-kindle the dancing flames from beyond.

But half the time, they don't think they can…

_(The other half goes to far off sunsets where, half-hopefully, Axel is)._

* * *

><p>A.N. - Mystical, you're a breath of oxygen. You really are- thanks so very much for that kind review! And to the other readers, your support is so very appreciated :) So, hope you're still enjoying this, and I'll be seeing you around soon enough (once I get this little medical inconvenience done away with!)<p>

Mirae


	91. Crave

Berserkers aren't capable of feeling pain. Oh, sure they'll take damage- and shrug it off like dead skin or blood-rain droplets.

But this won't please the cause.

The cause will just have to course through every vein with loving accuracy. The cause will have to slip and slither, burn and singe every single patch of skin until Saïx tires of her antics and shoves her off.

And yet, she's still there, trickling ghost-pain and lightning in displays that seal his eyes and make him wince.

Not pain- an inconvenience, yes. Much like the dancing bladed nymph, with her barbed words and-

No, he doesn't feel what she tries to do. No pain, no annoyance, no anything save pulls on blue hair and the garish reflection of her acid-yellow hair in mirrors. And yet, Saïx lets her try.

Or once did, at any rate. He'd wake up cobwebbed in crimson or shocked-pinned to a chair. He'd wake up to a face full of feral smiles and lunacy-blue eyes peering curious down to him as prey. He'd wake up to delicate strokes of every bruise and cut, to scything laughter and the vague idea of groaning in-

But now it's a thing of the past with the storm becalmed.

Now Saïx just sees knife-lace and scar-silk covering his arms. Now every shadow has her profile an Saïx is somewhat peeved by the fact that he lacks the technique and patience required.

To make a shadow squirm and writhe in pain.

To wither and moan at touches that have something behind them, the shiver of blades and the hum of electricity.

Berserkers aren't meant, aren't capable of feeling pain. But they try better than their master.

The master that languidly tilts his head to a sickly jaundiced moon and makes pretend that there was a sting to the nymph's demise.

But there isn't, save the phantom aches of wounds long past and a recognition of an anesthetized future.

Saïx just makes a quiet note of the persistent annoyance on his body and how the cost for potions keeps ramping up even without the fanged smiles.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> – in my mind at least, this is a darker piece than the usual fare. Wonder what you thought about it.

(Yeah, you have to figure out with who I paired Saïx, but it was pretty obvious… or I hope I didn't make it too vague…)

Cheers!


	92. Mine

Lea knows the name of every single one of his charges- from the girl who cares for the flower stall on weekends to the sulky boy.

He knows the tricks to annoy every one of them as well- with candid intent. For, as much as Lea has memorized every single quirk of the people surrounding him, they know him equally well back.

The man at the ice-cream store knows at which hour he expects to see the rascal begging on his knees for the sea-salt treats.

The guards know at which times he tries to scale the wall and even how he'll have to be brought back home- although that's easy to guess as covered in scratches and hollering that this time, he was almost in.

The old ladies in town know how much he speaks of his girl. A girl, just vaguely mentioned, but-

It means the smaller redhead who twirls around with flowers.

It means the loud girl who speaks about a lady with a sword and how one day, she'll beat Isa and Lea at their games.

_(And everyone knows the exact angle at which Lea's nose will twitch when he hears the names called out in that order, because second place isn't good enough for anyone to remember and-_

_And she'll forget, but she can't)_

Then Lea asks around about a challenger for the disc-champion title, or tries to sneak past the guards for the umpteenth time. There Kairi will be, just at the center of Lea's sight.

With the discs that look ridiculously oversized.

On the other side of the pearly-iron gates, grinning as wide as her small face allows.

And he'll just grin back, or swagger for a bit and think that _this one's mine._

Although everyone but Lea knows he means the girl and not the sneak-in or the match.


	93. Tear

It started out small.

A slender scratch on his chest, snaking all the way from his sternum to slightly under his heart that bleached the warm tan skin.

The blue eyes flickering in and out and in with a fanfare of light and desperation. Waking up to warm arms pinning Sora to consciousness and somehow-

An odd fragility in steel-weak arms that hadn't been there.

Then it tears up a bit.

A sunset rushing through chocolate, a trickle of amber spilling over eerie-blue eyes and the sense-

(Of neon lights and a black-cloaked foe and-)

But the tear is infinitely small and universal.

No-one-not-Sora is tearing, ripping, running through a nowhere-castle with a goal in mind.

Not his goal, of course.

No tear thinks of sealing itself and ceasing a pitiful existence. But it's there in every blinding echo and every glare from a ghost-eyed reflection.

(A dark-sunk island and the same black-cloaked friend and-)

But all tears heal.

And Sora does and Roxas does, in a heat-haze of battle with one-and-a-half hearts and two sets of blue that refuse to yield to an inner rift.

But yield they do and scar they do.

The tear seals in sea-salt. In fireflies dancing off to the nothing air and into eyes that finally go quiet into the night.

In another set of blades that shear and strike and cut more red-ribbon rivers and maybe just maybe they'll open up Sora again and Roxas gets to walk free.

But they don't do so yet. The tear takes time to mend and time to rend.

Roxas takes time to flow into Sora, and Sora takes time to feel.

To understand the appeal of red, fluttering flames that seem traitorous, unreal.

To see a friend and not reel back or gasp or snarl out a litany of apologies and a rosary of oaths.

Anyways, they see each other in the mirror.

Ghost blue, star blue eyes. The crown of unruly hair in shades of amber-coffee. The longing to live and the spun-around lives.

And Sora- always Sora, because he's the hero, the one who knows what to say and what to do, will always place a hand and a smile on the glass pane.

Then slowly, maybe, the tear heals back a little.


	94. Jewel

Departure isn't much of a world by normal standards.

It consists mostly of sheer cliffs and tantalizing waters, of a chained castle bound to drooping mountain flanks and star-strewn skies. Eraqus suspects the castle was there long before his own Master, and even before, but if such records exist, he hasn't seen them.

Yet the world is rich.

He's seen worlds paved with light and gold, held jewels of incalculable valor and witnessed events of such magnitude to diminish Departure to nothing more than the longing name it holds. Eraqus knows this with ease- he even left somewhere like that long ago. And yet, aside from a couple minor details, he misses nothing.

The treasures are a burly young man, growing into armor once overlarge and now almost small. A lady who weaves star-lace into the night where once she danced around with spare ribbons. A young boy who managed to grow into the sunlight and cheer that now swallows the not-quite full castle.

And to Eraqus, those three are worth every jewel left uncovered and every street bedecked in gaudy radiance.

Then, they begin to scatter and dim.

The eldest man, so loyal, so brave, taken under twilight's wing and Eraqus can't let him gallivant off in such a way, he can't lose-

The sunny wind struck into chill and he knows or will know. The small gaps of cloudy ghosts, the tricks in the mirrors and how Eraqus wasn't always the one who'd fix up the small disaster that he'd cause during training.

And the spell-weaver, grown into duty and now so bound by little chains that dance and dance and Eraqus sees himself in the same place, tethered and fettered to the jewel-hearts that are strewn across the sky and he can't stand to lose them-

But oh, he will. He knows, for that is the way of treasure troves and fairy tales.

A circle, a cycle, and all Eraqus can deal with is that to see them again, lose them he must.

He levels the blade to sapphire-and-gold, crouching and knowing and tears stain every eye.


	95. Candy

"The thing about candy-girls is that they just get gobbled up and forgotten."

Meg isn't one for sugarcoating things- much less to the overly sweet girl that is both Keyblade wielders' sweetheart.

_Urgh_- her personality is seeping over even to her thought mannerisms. Sure, Kairi can pull off a couple convincing battle expressions. Has magic most probably, and more light than Meg will ever see on one being in a lifetime.

She's still just a walking treat. All gullible sweetness and the easily-lied-to charm of a girl in 'true love' for the first time.

"I won't."

"Oh, because you won't burn the world down for your boys."

_Or your soul and your smile and the last dregs of your believed-infinite dreams._ Kairi would do so, in half a heartbeat or less, and there Megara sees two redhead girls instead of one.

Kairi in her short dress and her slim blade. Defiant to the bone and with a soul dipped in honey- the muses must love her, Meg reckons. All a proper maiden should be- beautiful and almost heavenly with the zest of something else.

And herself through the Fate's loom. Same outraged expression, only with a bit more cunning and a lot more of the dark. She hasn't made her soul silk-fragile yet. Younger Meg won't be able to see the darkling threads and the sting of Hades's chains- but that will come.

_Once, twice_- for a man he can't remember, for her Wonderboy.

_Once, twice_ for Kairi at least. Indirectly, or else she really is tougher than she looks if she has endured through half of what she says.

"I will- and they…"

"Hesitating now?"

That's what being sweet does- an ill-thought bargain and torn hearts. A dulled luster in the purple-blue eyes when her beloved forgets and leaves her once the first pangs of love end.

"No. They won't forget me… or not again. And we went through that together- we'll go through it again if we need to."

"Hmph."

"You'll see." A grin from the overconfident, deathly-sweet Kairi- a flash from the past and-

"You know, you might just be one of the sour candies yourself."

At this, she just laughs.


	96. Winter

Axel has never seen a proper winter. Never did before and it's not like he'll notice it anyways right now when nothing is or matters.

But coldness is more intimate than the season will ever be.

Coldness is the endless white of rooms and corridors that leave him with a dying question of where his corner of nothingness ends.

Coldness is watching shadows parade in front of him, capering in death throes and sunset flames which are numbing in their heat-

Not really. It's a dull itch where the fire licks him. Not warmth or even a facsimile of it.

Coldness is watching Saïx- not Isa, not even a crumbling effigy of Isa- go about every duty with a golden sultry gaze.

It's words, more words all going _kill_ and _goal_ and _Lea_ and _why, you have changed. _In protocol monotone, unseeing eyes, Saïx is not.

For the record, it hurts. In the same way a burn hurts- throbbing, itching and generally a nuisance that Axel aches to ignore.

Not like he can- Axel gets a nice serving of Saïx every day for the reports, meetings, scheming. A futile attempt at lightening the other up- sometimes literally, sometimes just with make-believe.

Axel would play the dreaming boy, the confidante, gambol around quarters so close Saïx has to dodge and duck and maybe twist into a grimace-smile when it doesn't quite work.

Ice burns- more insidiously than fire even. Fire is true to its capricious nature, to the wild sparks and roars of damage. But ice- Saïx-ice, not the puny little cubes that spike every single drink- it burns by slowly sapping all away, by leaving husks out of husks and having dancing exoskeletons parade in death's own march.

So Axel goes and Axel capers, felling all those who'd stand in his-their way.

Then maybe, there'd be a wintery diviner watching the whole thing and claim that the whole effort was laughable.

That would be as close to alright as Axel dares get.


	97. Breeze

Riku is content with just drifting along for the time being. All has been said and done- both of Sora's fragments delivered safely back, dangers quelled for the moment.

All, except the danger of falling bored asleep on his feet. Riku can't put that to a blade as easily. DiZ barely regards him, too caught up in future plans and pivotal points. Naminé is in too critical a junction to distract at the moment.

So Riku is left to prowl the astoundingly insipid streets of Twilight Town while he waits on the day that Sora wakes up again. And, to his chagrin, the streets are mostly empty as well.

Pamphlets of every color, discarded candy wrappers, a large pair of sneakers-

Sneakers. Means person means-

"Up here. Don't think my shoes are that pretty."

Means a girl with tousled (and somewhat extravagant) brown hair and green eyes the size of plates. Right now, she is the most wonderful person Riku has seen in the last… however long, though he doubts it's been more than a week.

"I'm Olette. So, why the staring contest with the ground? You were in for a long one there."

Riku tells her, between shrugs and half-secrets and wondering just why she has a bat slung behind one shoulder.

* * *

><p>It's two weeks and counting, and the score between Riku and Olette is a tie. She has breezy speed; he has a bit more knowledge of tactics and such. He's always dismissive about where he got the skill, always citing this and that like he just floated through; she will boast and babble about friends she's seen and <em>why are you always alone Riku, come with us and have some ice-cream.<em>

The score for that is tied as well- Olette can drag him over to the (awkward) clock tower like no-one else. And Riku, he'll usually protest- he has to do something, his room's a mess, and he won the last match.

"Then I'll owe you the prize, and I can't have _that_."

So she'll laugh and drift off, promising on the wind that next time, he'll have to eat twice the treats and stay for twice as long.

Riku always does so with a smile.


	98. Dawn

It really shouldn't be that big of a deal. Selphie had seen a million of those anyways.

A faint finger of light limning the far end of the sea. Stars slowly falling asleep, waving from the furthest edges of paler gossamer. A stain of sky-blue- not inky black, not void-colored- spreading, racing, surging until it lapped at sand-covered sandals and sunlight teased unaccustomed eyes.

It isn't that big of a deal. It _isn't_, and the onset of dawn _isn't_ why Selphie is paddling fast as she can back to the main island, hollering all the way for Tidus and Wakka. Dawn isn't the reason why the three of them huddle atop the bent Paopu tree and stare mute at the sky.

"Feels like forever since we did this."

"Forever? Selphie, we just came here yesterday and the day before, and before and-"

"Man, I think she got the point, Tidus."

"Still feels like forever, right? Like these aren't _the_ stars, and…"

"You know, you're going girly on us."

_Thwack._ The rope hangs limp in Selphie's hand as she half-glares and half-laughs at her friend; Wakka just belts out with the raucous laughter that tears up the blood-red skies and helps Tidus up with an _'I told ya man'_ that sounds queerly familiar, despite…

Despite…

"I think I see Sel's point."

"Really, Wakka?"

"Never have been up this early!"

"You'd be the one to say that!"

Then they crack up again, laughing until they can't-won't stop, because this one dawn is theirs, special and somehow unique, with some laggard stars chasing upwards like just so many fireworks.

Maybe that's why, or maybe just because whatever came before had been a blur and a haze of black-and-void, of neon lights and shadow husks.

Still, dawn shouldn't have been that big a deal- or at least, for anyone else_ but_ them.


	99. Kiss

Pluto skulks along the alley. Somehow, the letter sealed with the royal insignia had omitted to make Mickey appear. And Pluto just had to take a leap aboard the galaxy-ship too late, just had to arrive to a dank, dark place reeking of spare corners.

Pluto just had to find the knocked-out boy at the very end of the alley, leaning against musty boxes and looking too desperate for any sleeper. Pluto had good experience in sleepers- from lazy knights to napping mages to kings overworked drooling on old pages. And this boy…

This boy needed to wake up. He was in an alley, Mickey's sake, and it was no safe place for a sleeping kid. Or a fit place for someone struck with whatever hid behind the anxious closed eyes.

Pluto licks the side of his face- fairly tasteless, but the kid stirs. Slowly, to be sure- a murmur there, a twitch and what sounds like a name mumbled over and over. Calling out, out and this Pluto knows how to do better than kissing awake or slouching around neon-lit streets.

So he rips out a baying howl- okay, just a bark and some panting- and finally, finally, the boy wakes up with somber sky-blue eyes and a semi-coherent call of…

Well, not Mickey. But it doesn't matter, when the boy curls off an awkward smile and simply says 'I'm Sora' before rushing off to some adventure.

And running back, pausing only to ruffle the top of Pluto's head and thank him (even when Sora rubbed dog-kiss slobber from his cheek with his spare hand). Pluto barks him off- he likes the praise, he likes the feeling of ruffled fur and warmth.

But Sora was going somewhere beyond his alley corner, somewhere where maybe he'd need another good lick to continue, or a letter delivered.

Another bark, a pass of paper to the ground and a last kiss goodbye- Sora doesn't look like there was one, or will be one, and Pluto has the hobby of being vaguely embarrassing.

It works well enough.

* * *

><p>A.N. – c'mon guys, last two, let's kill this thing in style and leave some last, sarcastic reviews… or if you want to say you liked it, that's okay as well. So see you around!<p> 


	100. Forever

She's entirely capable of waiting on until forever, Aqua can see, watching the slow lapping of waves for a crown of brown spikes or a flow of silver.

At times, Aqua will join her vigil. Quietly, letting her eyes swim over waves to check for her own lost friends and stories bubbling up from a deep sea. At times, Aqua will lift Kairi in a dance of blades, regaling her with experience and sparring wounds.

Then, exhausted, they'll let time pass them by for another while. This isn't Kairi's shore, at any rate- long and sinuous, sea black and stained with lantern-sparkles from crashed worlds. It isn't Aqua's either, but she's spent too long here already and well, Kairi for now only dreams. Dreams and waits on a shore with half-forgotten memories that wash up on the tide and merge with the sugared tales Aqua had passed on to her along with a key.

Three again. Funny, how even history loops on until forever and Aqua hopes against everything else that at least that one man doesn't-

"You'll meet them again. Your Terra, and your Ven- I'm sure you'll meet them."

Kairi sounds prophetical somehow, calmly looking out to sea and squinting just so, like she's seen what she needs or what Aqua needs. Then that fades and Aqua sees the melancholic girl alone on the shore and desperately spinning a star-shaped charm around in her hands, willing the names back to herself.

"And you will see them again. Riku, and"-Sora, Aqua says, but she knows a distortion caught the world in the middle and it won't make any sense.

"I understand."

Time goes by, the shore remains unchanged and Aqua still lies on the dark sand and watches the waves like Kairi used to do, when she'd take dream-walks along the ocean or sent the letter in the bottle.

Then a light blooms near, Kairi smiles with her heroes by her sides and stretches out a hand.

"Forever came soon enough."

Aqua just sits and stares for a second, before standing up again and walking-

"They're waiting for you."

* * *

><p>A.N. – cheers. Ding dong, this thing is dead, done and buried! Thanks all for the support- the many many reads, the reviews, the semi-eternal waits and the jokes. So that said, one last question from me to you: any favorites? Any grand peeve?<p>

That said, the one last 'See you' on this little long thing, and I'll be doing another challenge-y thingy soon!

-Mirae


	101. A Re-run of sorts

A.N. – okay, I know that this one's technically over, done and dead, but… I'm kinda displeased with some of them. But I'm also not wanting to delete anything (since I want a record of how much of a n00b can I be).

So, first of all, I'm re-doing some of the prompts I disliked.

And those prompts, as they are/were pre-fix, are getting moved to this grand A.N-slash-dump last chapter. That way, you guys know which ones I edited and you can go check if you so wish.

Hope you're alright with that.

First one to get a face-lift is 'Hello' (I'm going to go by posting order, so I'll be a while!)

* * *

><p><em>Original (18 - Hello):<em>

Ventus rarely had to deal with silences. The world was already too _empty_ to just add to it by biting back your words. One thing led to another…

And he ended up having to deal with a person _apparently_ named Fuu. Apparently, because the girl rarely spoke or emoted at all. Fuu would appear out of thin air, rush around like silver winds and deep eyes, then leave like a mute storm.

It drove Ventus up all possible walls. Of all things – he could deal with a world slowly shutting down, a snickering sibling and enough work to drown the known universe. But not with Fuu's detachment – maybe it was due to her looks, or Fuu's airy grace and strength.

Ventus wanted her to speak, to know about the white-haired girl. And Ventus filled in the space with a whirl of words and actions. Fuu would still sneak through, away from the vocal storm…

But at times she'd answer, in _one-word_ phrases. He once got a one-liner, and fellow survivors were startled into inactivity by the resounding cheer across the place. Fuu later reverted to her icy silence – it mattered little. After all, Fuu's voice had filled up a bit the world, if only for a second

However, Ventus would only declare his work done when he got her speaking _normally_. And that wasn't that liable to happen…

Make that _it never did_. But he called it adequate one day of all, when it was Fuu striding towards him with a half-angry glare and a half-smile. It made Ventus pause enough for her to round up on him, a predator to the fixated prey; to fire a deadly missile:

"Hello."

Leaving Ventus behind, startled and inquiring a small mane of silver the reason behind the greeting. The world could have finished imploding that instant, and it would have gone unnoticed.

Fuu's greeting was not a one-time occurrence. It wasn't daily either, but it made a world's difference to Ventus.

Soon enough, a '_Hello_' was enough to satiate Ventus's need for noise.

To get into Fuu's head became his new challenge.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> - **MonMonCandie**: you are indirectly the cause for this chapter. Props to this chapter by being the first 'official' AU in here - guess you could take 'em all as AU, but this one was written with that in mind ;)

Thanks for reading, epic thanks to reviewers (who get a virtual cookie and a hug) and hope you enjoyed!

* * *

><p><em>Original (38 - Run):<em>

Aqua had been in the collapsing world long enough to know that the hungry dark could never be kept truly away. Certainly, she hadn't been one to always run-

But really, her neighborhoods just kept falling prey to the encroaching black.

* * *

><p>Aqua knew that it all had a cause. Thing was, the cause wasn't supposed to be a slip of a man in a too-large lab-coat tinkering around with a veil of grey-blue hair in his sight's way.<p>

The cause wasn't supposed to be an almost-boy who'd still leap back scared, into overloaded tables who…

"Aqua?"

_It wasn't supposed to be Zexion_, of all possible (_remaining_) people. But Aqua thought he had a point: Zexion had been mostly uncaring about anything, really.

Aqua thought that _maybe_ Zexion had still some of the sense to realize that _yes_, the very thing that now danced 'tame' within a test tube was…

Hadn't they both escaped from the same zone?

"I thought you would have…"

"Stopped? Not inclined to take such a course of action. So long as I haven't obtained some conclusive data-"

"You'll lose it all again."

Aqua, in what was genuinely a gesture of care, placed a hand on Zexion's shoulder. And was promptly amazed when, for once, he placed his hand on hers... even if it wasn't as 'true'.

Zexion, _dear_ _almost- no, that Zexion was **lost** already…_ who Aqua had tried to stop from experimenting, wasn't supposed to be why they were running away…

But he was – for now, at the very least.

* * *

><p>The day still came when Aqua found Zexion running from another dangerous experiment, a wake of nothing trailing at his heels.<p>

Aqua didn't expect him to wheel away from her – which was a good thing, because Zexion _didn't._ He just barreled into Aqua's arms, shoving her back and away-

* * *

><p>Aqua woke up with start, eyes scouring the unknown surroundings. A hospital…<p>

Zexion lay still asleep by her side, calm in a way waking up to warm light would drain out of him…

Guess Aqua got that by trying to help a void-being out of the dark. But they would pull through.

They'd live to run away another time.

* * *

><p><em>A.N.<em> – set in the same 'verse as 'Hello'. Thinking of expanding on that one (maybe, on a blue moon when pigs soar majestically over the city… or when I can finally weave plot together ;)

And one would think that 'Run' would have been 'bout Demyx… but yeah, oddity trumps all here. Thanks for reading, and special thanks to SavageNymph for the review!

* * *

><p><em>Original (56 - Storm):<em>

Sora had been scared of storms once upon a time, before a tempest of dark swallowed the world and a measly storm just was a rush of energy or a useful spell.

Sora had loved watching the storms from the safety of his house though. How the lightning would tear down to kiss the seas for a second, then leave to never return again. And electric-yellow or fire-sea red seashells were extra special to him – a gift of the storm to the world it had graced.

* * *

><p>Red and yellow had also become important to Xion – if nothing else, the red-clad storm in her head, sparking with high-voltage smiles, had prized those colors once. He had valued the hollow clangs of lightning, though the why was never hers to know.<p>

But, in honor to the boy tearing away at the doll's seams, Xion became better at magic – and storm magic soon became her forte.

Xion would soon know why the sky-storm boy in red both loved and feared the storms.

In any case, pretend-scared witless with her friends at her side, Xion can 'feel' she knows why, and searched the sky for the colors that the boy in her memories also sought out.

There they are, _together…_

But only for a fragmented second, then apart for all to come. _The red, the yellow…_

Xion already knows how this will turn out for her, night-black sky.

* * *

><p>Sora wakes up, to the sight of friends, and all the worlds happen. Sora'll end up on his beach, fishing out the fresh storm seashells – Kairi (<em>and ghost-her<em>) will like them, and he hasn't done this in ages.

For some vague reason, he tries to find the darkest-colored ones on the beach. A stormy-sky one, a lost-heart one. Sora doesn't know why he thinks that last one, but Sora knows that he needs it.

There he goes, a small black-blue sliver of one, clutched in his palm. It is _special_ – something in him twists and whirls and he knows something is _missing_ so…

Sora holds on to it, thinking that maybe it'll come back to him like the quiet tides….

But rather, he gets a miniature storm, the dance of sparks he loves. And he thinks that, whoever it is, feels better now.

Meanwhile, Xion just sleeps in his heart, trying to thank the boy for daring to help her.

* * *

><p><em>Original (58 - Magic):<em>

Terra never had that much of a problem believing in magic. It came with casting it yourself, even if it lost most of its, well, magic at times; eventually, magic for Terra became little more than Aqua's way to beat him and Ventus at training session and something he had learnt to use at times.

Now, Terra's out on a world trip, looking out for his title and he frankly can't care much for magic… until Castle of Dreams happens. No, it isn't watching a castle that outright glistens pearl-like in the starlit distance. And the first trick of true magic he sees isn't the plump lady giving a tearful girl a dress and a ride.

And, despite all that he thinks of Cinderella, that magic isn't her either. She is light, but not magic. The kindly woman from before, with solace and a silky blue cloak… she is magic. She made Terra see the light for once in that dancing girl. No, not for once:

The fairy gave him the hope he needed, or gave him a hint. But he was too, well, Terra was just his normal (and we'd like to say somewhat dense) self, and doesn't stay with Cinderella.

But well, he would like to say he would have loved to. Terra would have liked to bask in Cinderella's light, and show her the parlor tricks he knew as magic. But not forever – there is always the world-magic calling to him, a destiny to seek and friends to find.

So, this brought him back to the godmother. In a way, she tethered him back to her realm, where there is a dream-white castle and a dancing girl borne by wish-magic and Terra knows that, when given the chance, he'll be right back there in a second.

Because, despite all the things that Terra has seen and will see, the first glimpse of that brand of magic – potent enough to simply give a dream come true – will remain forever in that heart of his.

Terra does try to come back, mind you. But, he ends up resigning himself to watching the protecting dazzle of magic from above the stars that both ladies like to see.

* * *

><p><em>Original (65 - Please):<em>

Naminé always knew she was out there to please someone – a genie in a bottle of sorts. Three wishes, all drawn with a crayon and posted up on fluorescent white walls. Yes, she did get a small reward or so at times:

A cameo appearance, hiding in the shadows just a corner beyond sight.

Donning another costume, to say hello and interact semi-freely for a while.

Someone _smiles_ at her, bright blue eyes that can put the sketched skies to shame.

But genies – and witches here, Naminé adds – don't usually get their wishes. But Sora maybe…

No, he won't. Not now, and not when he finds out that, right there at the corner of his memories, her name has been scribbled in pencil, a prayer to remember.

* * *

><p>It won't work with a <em>pretty please spare him<em> – shadows don't work like that…

Naminé bends Sora just a bit more to her will, always there, smiling and talking all the while as she tightens the bonds.

But the memories can tear her up – much more when she hears a bit of the altered dialogue, in all a perfect tone:

"_Winner gets drawn by Naminé later"_

"_I promise to protect you"_

It doesn't hurt, not at all. Naminé is even quite pleased – no longer alone…

But she hates shackles. And tossing even more around Sora isn't quite right, but she is absolutely sure he will pull through.

He will, for such a dear childhood friend…

_I'm not real. But please do so._

* * *

><p>She is in tears at the end, and Naminé doesn't know how she even can pull this off – maybe it's just part of her elaborate façades. But Sora is here, and she's done all she swore to do:<p>

Naminé just told him. Collapsed afterwards, but from here on in she's dead anyways, and it won't matter-

"Please, smile for me?"

That probably _wasn't_ what he said – but the idea was that. And she can't remember if Sora did pick her up and just held her close, murmuring some sweet nonsense in her hair to get her to really smile, as she had done so many times in those pictures of hers.

But Naminé does – just to please him, just to play along with his actions.

Something else is said later, but it is secondary right now. Sora's still clinging to her, and Naminé just refuses to move.

Well… she's a genie – so Sora, what do you wish?

_Please, pick (no, don't) pick me…_

* * *

><p>It's erasing all what hurts. Because now, when she gets to see those old artworks of hers…<p>

Sora's reactions had changed a bit more than intended. Warmer towards her, closer…

But it may just be Naminé's imagination.

_A meteor shower, and little Sora is trying to console a little girl…_

Really, it_ is_….

* * *

><p><em>Original (87 - Need. Sheesh, I really wouldn't have done this one if I hadn't been heckled to the end of the world and back by a friend :P )<em>

She isn't really willing to play this game. Xion, for being accustomed to the sky-high stakes, isn't really used to being the one to set them in the first place.

But then, there is him. The Reaper who decided that he's paying proper homage to their name, who strolls surrounded by soft petals and who is impossibly outranking her. And, even worse than the fates Xion interferes with every so long, is the stake that she set to Marluxia sometime… before.

"_I bet to you that, when we're Reapers, we'll fix the system. And we'll never have to see everything taken away again!"_

"_Ah, so hopeful as ever…" He sighs, combs rosewood hair with a slim hand. Xion can see the small markings of a novice on his inner wrist, matching hers perfectly and-_

"_But, this time I think that I might not be in the winning side as always. So, will the little flower allow me to set some stakes?"_

_Marluxia doesn't need allowing, but Xion knows he'll ask anyways just to peeve her. Not that she really minds._

"_If, when we are Reapers. When we both are at the top of the chain, and have the little blossoms at our mercy. When we truly honor the name and occupation of Reapers, if you manage to recover a single thing of what we've lost…"_

_He lets the thought trail off. Xion thinks of a million things she'd like to have from him and about a million other things she won't admit to of thinking. Then his blue eyes focus on her again and she awaits the sentence eagerly, needing to know if it's worth the obligatory challenge._

"_I'll think of it then. But of course, it would be a most phenomenal reward for such a lofty goal…"_

She surveys her recently-acquired goods. Tries to figure out just how she could give to him back anything, any one thing.

Xion really doesn't remember. None of them does, and maybe that's just why they all jump at the chance of Reaper-dom, but at least.

At the very, very least, even when surrounded by darkness and so many stolen fortunes and Xion can't stand this any longer-

But she needs to have at least one familiar face around. Even if she still owes Marluxia something dear and she is still on her losing streak.

* * *

><p>A.N. – this was a fusion of:<p>

a) The most insane challenge ever from a friend of mine (see, there is your Marluxia/Xion, you crazy girl, be happy!)

b) Having been astounded by Knight-Dawn's TWEWY-ish idea in _Two Hearts_- yes, I admit to riffing it like hell, but originality of the thought plus the less imbecilic plot are hers. (Go over there to be similarly wowed with the little drabbles :)

c) The amount of hearsay about July 31 and KH 3D. If it applies to the crazy whole of America (as the continent and not the USA), I'll cheer so loud they'll be able to hear me in the Square Enix offices.

So, thanks to you for reading and as always, leaving a review or something is crazy appreciated. See you around!

(Oh, and yeah- tangential links to the actual prompt… no-one said I really had to stay on topic ;)

* * *

><p><em>Original (88 - Necklace):<em>

Aqua is out on an elimination mission this time. Hard as they all are, with no emotional string left un-pulled and usually, no reserve left untouched. She isn't exactly sure of the target this time around- maybe it's another of the blanked-out ones, or a crazed survivor that can't be let loose.

At least, this time she is in an enclosed area- Aqua really dislikes having to chase them down, or even worse have them call allies. And not too enclosed- more like a spacious garden gone to ruin or-

Whimpering. Loud and plaintive and whoever this is, maybe, just maybe, Aqua doesn't have to put down. For luck, she traces the star-shaped charm she has- the blue of a bright sky she probably won't see in a long time.

The blue of the curled-up man's hair.

The color is so vibrant on someone else it _jolts_, and for a moment Aqua is beyond stunned at the fact. Her weapon drops, she even gasps and-

He rises. Badly mangled, feral nothing-eyes and Aqua knows, just knows that much as she would've liked, this one's a goner. So she is reduced to frenzied shooting, to fast-cast healing and even pulling the gravity-stoppers on her gear.

_(Those'll be a pain to reload later, with the resources running thin, but…_

_She wants this encounter to last as long as possible. To keep the glimpse of necklace-jewel blue for the lengthiest amount of time and-)_

He collapses, unconscious and rapidly fading. And Aqua, she runs towards him. She is always compassionate, seeking out a name to remember or a last token to bring to family.

It doesn't surprise her when his eyes latch on to her necklace, when he makes a lame attempt at reaching the small insignia in the middle.

She takes it off, just for a moment, just so that he can hold it.

"Saïx", he says, smiling just before-

There is a soft clinking sound as the necklace drops to the barren ground and he swells off in shimmering blue sparkles.

Aqua made a point of leaving another little blue star necklace just on that spot, for whoever happened to stumble upon it.

But they'd find the 'Saïx' carved in, and hopefully just leave it there.

* * *

><p>A.N. – the AU from insanely before? Yeah, it made a return and maybe it might as well have a fic. Maybe being the operative term ;)<p>

And I'm off the epic tests now… phew for a while!

See you around, reviews are really appreciated, and take care!


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